


Dangerous Professions

by darklordriddle (marauderswagger)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Eventual Smut, F/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Professor Harry Potter, Professor Hermione Granger, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, not entirely underage but tagging to be safe, plans to be decently long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauderswagger/pseuds/darklordriddle
Summary: Five years after graduating, Hermione is a curse-breaker for Gringotts. Although it's a dangerous profession, her new position as Professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts may prove to be equally challenging when Tom Riddle finds interest in his new professor. Did she make a huge mistake in doing this favour for Professor Dumbledore? AU. professor/student. M for eventual smut. WIP.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I couldn't help myself with this one. I thought of it while I was driving and it's stuck with me ever since, so I figured I'd better write it and let my mind take me where it wants to go.
> 
> This is AU, so please keep that in mind as you go forward. People are in times that aren't regularly their own, different professors, people still alive, etc.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! No comments are bad comments.

She had been reluctant to respond to the letter.

It had arrived while she was at the worksite in Egypt, addressed appropriately despite the exact location being kept under wraps by the ministry. It always boggled her mind how he knew just where to find someone.

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

_Tent Outside Pyramid of Djoser, Southern Pavilion Necropolis_

_Saqqara, Egypt_

Her hands had a slight shake to them as she opened the letter - he hadn't been known to reach out to his students after they graduated unless there was a rather difficult problem he couldn't solve or he needed a favour. Apprehension sent waves of discomfort throughout her body, telling her that either reasoning was usually never a good thing.

_Miss Granger,_

_I apologize for not writing to you sooner; I've been quite busy with the school and haven't had the time for such pleasantries. It is with regret that I inform you this letter isn't intended for that purpose, either._

_It seems we have a position available at Hogwarts - and if my memory serves me correctly, it's regarding a subject you always excelled at and continue to do so in your career. I can think of no other person better suited to teach Arithmancy than you, Miss Granger, as you have always been so passionate on the subject._

_If you are up for it, consider it a favour to me for you to take over the position. Classes start within a month, and without an Arithmancy Professor, I'm afraid the students will be missing out on a very important part of their education._

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. If you are agreeable, I will arrange for a portkey to transport you to the castle._

_Most sincerely,_

_Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

She had read the letter time and time again, worrying her bottom lip as she struggled to make a decision.

She  _enjoyed_ being a curse-breaker. She liked the thrill of excavating through the tombs of Egypt to find magical objects otherwise hidden to the world. She liked the danger of disabling and countering curses that had been around for centuries, most unknown to the present magical world. She wasn't even bothered that witches and wizards greater than her had died from this exact profession - she was passionate about her job, and that was that.

Professor Dumbledore had struck a chord with her, however; she couldn't stand the thought of students missing out on Arithmancy and the knowledge that came with it. Sure, it was a difficult subject; but those who worked hard and mastered it always went on to great things. Without Arithmancy during her school years, she wouldn't be where she was today. Ancient Runes and Charms were important to her career as well, but Arithmancy is what got her the job with Gringotts in the first place. She couldn't take the same opportunity away from another person simply because she was enjoying her time in Egypt.

Hermione sighed and cast a wordless spell to pile her frizzy hair in a knot upon her head; one thing Egypt didn't do for her was make her hair any better. The heat caused her hair to double in size and that was no easy feat, seeing as it was usually quite messy to begin with. She wasn't worried about her appearance here, though, among the dead and the few colleagues who joined her on her quest - so she always let it go, either in a messy knot or a similarly messy plait.

The pecking of the brown barn owl upon her desk seized her attention and she glared at it, frustrated with its impatience.

"Alright, alright," she growled, grabbing parchment and a quill to write a response. She hastily wrote her decision and signed her name before she could change her mind, rolling the paper and attaching it to the bright-eyed bird's leg. "Sorry, I don't have any treats. Off you go." She waved her hand in dismissal and watched the owl take off.

Hermione looked around the spacious tent that she shared with her three colleagues and groaned.

She  _hated_ packing.

Hermione arrived outside the castle doors only a day before classes were set to begin. She couldn't leave her job as quickly as she had planned, as her colleagues had stumbled upon a tomb that had yet to be discovered in the maze beneath the Pyramid of Djoser. It had given them quite a difficult time, more so than any of the other obstacles they encountered in their work together. Two weeks, about a dozen wards, and three scars adorning her abdomen later, it had been opened. It took all she had to pull herself away from the discovery, seething with frustration at herself for agreeing to leave the project behind.

She shivered and huddled into herself as the wind blew around her. She wasn't used to the chill associated with the Scottish Highlands anymore and desperately hoped to get acclimated soon; until then, she knew she would be ridiculously overdressed in excessive layers until her body adjusted.

The massive wooden doors shuddered in front of Hermione, slamming open with a loud  _bang_  as her former Professor came to greet her. He looked the same as he had five years ago: flowing white beard that reached the ground, dark red robes adorned with what appeared to be stars sparkling in random places, and half-moon spectacles that aided in the sight of his bright blue eyes, always twinkling with knowledge that no one else was privy to.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Dumbledore greeted, flourishing his wand to levitate her bags inside. "Do, come in! I've been waiting for your arrival." He turned and began walking the opposite way, expecting her to follow his lead. "I'm very thankful for your kindness in helping the school. There's simply no other person better to fill the position, and I know Mr. Potter will be glad to have your company."

Hermione nodded in agreement, a grin filled with excitement beginning to form on her face. Harry had taken the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts the year prior; they regularly corresponded through mail, maintaining their close friendship even when countries apart. "I'm thrilled to see him, sir. I haven't had the opportunity to see him since beginning my project at Djoser."

"I hope you don't mind, but I've invited him to my office as we discuss your position. I'll be sending your bags to your room so you can get settled in after."

The pair made their way to the Headmaster's office and Hermione struggled to contain her chuckle at his password - 'chocolate covered quills' - that was always centered around treats. The Gargoyle stepped aside and allowed the two to make their way up the moving stone staircase, entering the beautiful circular room that held most of Dumbledore's belongings, including his beloved phoenix, Fawkes.

"Hermione!" A voice called out followed by a blur of black, messy hair. She beamed with happiness as she was almost knocked over by her best friend's hug. She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could.

"Harry, I've missed you!" She pulled away to look into his emerald eyes that always held a spark of mischief. "I can't believe it's so been so long-"

"I know.  _I_  can't believe you agreed to join the staff, what with all of your fancy adventures throughout the world-"

She hit his shoulder but smiled fondly at him. "They're not fancy adventures, they're  _research_ , and I couldn't allow students to not experience Arithmancy! It's one of the most important subjects this school offers."

"Agree to disagree, then," Harry winked at his oldest best friend and gave her a cheeky smile. "I'm quite fond of Defense Against the Dark Arts myself, but perhaps I'm biased."

Professor Dumbledore interrupted them with a laugh and instructed Harry and Hermione to sit down as he took a seat behind his spacious yet cluttered desk.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your reunion, but I feel it's best to get Miss Granger settled into her new position before the start of term tomorrow." He softened his words with a quick wink, then handed Hermione a thick folder. "Here's the information on your students. As Professor of Arithmancy, you'll be in charge of Arithmancy from third year on, as well as Advanced Arithmancy Studies. I've looked over your course plans for the first few weeks - thank you for your quick work - and everything is appropriate. I wasn't trying to flatter you when I told you that you were the best for this position; you have a lot of practical applications of Arithmancy that I feel will be very beneficial to the students."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione replied, flushing with pleasure at the compliment anyway. "I hope to do the position justice. Is there anything I should be aware of before the start of term tomorrow?"

The Headmaster hesitated before responding, knowledge swirling in his bright blue eyes as he internally debated whether to share information with her.

"For now, I think not. If you have any issues or…  _thoughts_  on any of your students, you know where to find me." He clapped his hands and caused her to startle slightly. "Nothing to worry about for now. Mr. Potter will show you to your office and sleeping chambers to help get you settled. I have a few other things to complete before the students arrive."

She quirked an eyebrow at Harry over Dumbledore's cryptic answer but decided to bring it up later. She was exhausted from her travels and could use all the rest she could get before classes began.

The two friends hooked arms as they made their way to her office, catching up on each other's lives quickly. He was astonished at how tan her skin had become, shifting from light and almost translucent to a warm golden brown hue. Harry joked that her career forced her out of the library and out into the sun, and she agreed; while she still adored books and anything regarding knowledge, she loved the feeling of the sun on her skin.

Hermione found her face hurting from all the smiling and laughing she had done since her reintroduction to Hogwarts. She had felt waves of nostalgia crash over her upon seeing her closest friend back in the corridors that they had trekked only five years before, but she was thankful for the reunion. Harry and Hermione always fell back into their same routines whenever they reunited, and it comforted her to know she would have her best friend with her as she started her new journey in a familiar place.

Harry had stayed with her for most of the day and into the night to help her unpack and arrange her classroom the way she'd like before they parted ways, leaving Hermione to rest before the students -  _her_ students - arrived the next day.

Hermione entered the Great Hall that following night adorned in her best dress robes, coloured a dark ebony and lined with scarlet. She couldn't help but wear something that was an homage to her house when she attended Hogwarts; after all, she was still a Gryffindor at heart. She had even attempted to tame her hair that she hadn't bothered to mess with in nearly a year. It was quite the struggle, but she had managed to get it to behave enough to allow her to braid it into a pretty plait with loose - albeit wild - curls framing her face. She couldn't ever get  _all_  of her hair to stay in one place, so it would have to do.

She joined the other Professors at the High Table and sat down next to Harry as the students began to file in, led by the Head Boy and Head Girl. She found her hands clammy from nerves as the Great Hall filled - surely there weren't that many students when she attended Hogwarts? - and she felt Harry give her hand a quick but tight squeeze.

"Breathe, Hermione," Harry whispered, keeping his eyes forward and smiling at his students. "They're children, and you're a bad-ass. Stop stressing."

Hermione grinned at him and threw her head back in a laugh at Harry's choice of words. He always knew how to make her feel better.

She looked out at the four tables once again, now full, and realized that most eyes were on her. She straightened her back in her chair and raised her chin, determined to be the epitome of confidence despite her nerves. She let a small smile show on her face, hoping she wasn't making a poor first impression.

"Before we get to the sorting," Dumbledore began, silencing the murmuring students. "I'd like to introduce you to your new Professor of Arithmancy - Professor Granger." He held his hand out and gestured for her to stand.

Hermione stood quickly and waved, kicking Harry's chair to interrupt his snickering at her jumpiness. Professor Dumbledore sent her a wink and she smiled warmly at him before sitting down once more.

"Professor Granger was a curse-breaker for Gringott's before she left to teach here. She is well equipped to teach you anything you should know about Arithmancy. Now, to the sorting!"

Hermione was thankful for the change of subject, namely away from her, and watched as the first years were sorted. She clapped when it was appropriate and was thrilled when food appeared in front of her; she didn't realize how much she had missed the food at Hogwarts.

She made small talk with Harry and Professor Slughorn beside her throughout their meal. Slughorn was overly excited to have her join the staff, as his booming voice had announced several times through the night. She had been one of his favourite students - 'brightest witch of her age, after all!' he'd declare - and she knew he had bragged about teaching her after she graduated and moved on to bigger things. Some things never changed.

Before long the dinner was over and students began filing back to their dormitories, led by the prefects. One student, however, had lingered back, waiting to approach the professor's table until most of the students were gone.

He had dark brown hair, very close to black, that was curled and parted expertly to frame his face. His bone structure was that of aristocrats; defined jaw, straight nose, and perfectly symmetrical. She noted that he was from Slytherin from his robes and tie, and Head Boy from the badge pinned to his chest.

She would have found him attractive had she been five years younger.

"Pardon me, Professor," The boy said, addressing Professor Slughorn in a low baritone. "I couldn't help but overhear your praises of our newest Professor -" His dark eyes darted to Hermione quickly before returning to Slughorn. "I felt I needed to introduce myself."

"Of course, m'boy, of course! Always the gentleman, that Tom Riddle," Slughorn boasted, looking fondly at his student. "Professor Granger, this is Tom Riddle - Head Boy and from my house, of course - I'd dare say, had he been in school with you, he'd give you a run for your money!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her former Professor and turned to Tom, giving him a pleasant smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Tom. If Professor Slughorn here is right, it's safe to assume you're in my Advanced Arithmancy Studies, yes?"

"Your assumptions are correct, Professor Granger. Arithmancy has always interested me, and I can't help but find myself intrigued by your line of work." He gave her a charming smile, flashing perfectly straight and white teeth. Her parents would've loved to have him as their patient.

"It's quite dangerous but very rewarding," Hermione agreed. "I can't share much information about the excavations I'm working on, but I'll do my best to help with practical applications of Arithmancy."

She noticed a greedy gleam in his eyes at her mentioning excavations but it disappeared quickly, replaced with innocent interest.

"I look forward to classes then, Professor Granger," Tom replied with a small smile. "If you'll excuse me, I must ensure the prefects have delivered the other students to their dormitories on time." He nodded his head to Slughorn, Hermione, and Harry as he turned to exit the Great Hall. Hermione stared after him, noticing his hands laced behind his back and his posture perfectly straight.

"Is he always that… Proper?" Hermione asked as Harry ushered her from her seat to exit the Great Hall as well. "He seemed a bit odd."

Harry nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "He's been that way since I started last year. He's incredibly bright, almost as bright as you," he bumped her shoulder with his playfully. "But he's a bit restrained, I've noticed. Different than the other students."

"Well, if he's as good as you and Slughorn say, I look forward to having someone interested in being challenged in my courses."

As she lay in bed that night, she thought of dark, obsidian eyes, glowing with secrets that she wasn't quite certain she should attempt to decipher - but similar to her curse-breaking, she found herself determined to do so anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I decided to split this chapter in two in order to get an update out more quickly. If in the future you’d rather I keep the chapters long and update less often, let me know in a review - I’m happy either way. I figure keeping the chapters this length will result in about an update a week, whereas if I keep them longer I’ll probably update once a month (as long as my schedule allows it). 
> 
> As for some of the questions I received: This takes place around 2002, roughly 5 years after Harry and Hermione would’ve graduated from Hogwarts. The first wizarding war still happened, but the rise of Voldemort has not, as Tom is still in school. He has still opened the Chamber of Secrets, resulting in the death of Myrtle, and also killed his parents. I’ve just messed with the timeline a bit to make the Professor Granger/Student Riddle thing work out. Also with this being AU, no prophecy. The rest of the questions will be answered in due time :)

The first half of the following day had passed by in a blur. She had third, fourth, and fifth years before lunch and free period after, followed by sixth years and her Advanced Arithmancy Studies as her last course of the day. 

Hermione found herself quite nervous with her first class; she had stumbled over her words a few times but her third year students were very kind and didn't seem to mind. That of course could've had something to do with them being extremely overwhelmed by the concepts of Arithmancy, but she was grateful for their oversight of her jitters nonetheless. 

With each class she found herself gaining confidence and reverting back to speaking with the authority she had as Head Girl; knowledgeable and precise, but without the ‘I know more than you’ tone her eighteen-year-old self had. She no longer focused on verbally destroying anyone who dared to challenge her intelligence - she simply knew that her intelligence would show in her work and magical skills and worried less about what her peers had to say. 

It was with that self-assurance she found herself walking into the Great Hall that afternoon for lunch. Back straight, chin high, loose brown curls bouncing behind her with each step she took. She took her seat between Horace and Harry and greeted them both warmly.

“It seems your classes went well then, Hermione," Harry said, returning her smile. "I told you this would come to you naturally." 

“It's gone brilliantly, really. Much better than I expected,” She said with a breath of relief, tucking her hair behind her ear. She had decided to keep her hair down that day, using only a few spells to keep her hair from appearing as though birds were nesting in it. “I've missed the human interaction if I'm being honest.”

"But you've been working with Bill, yeah? Surely the Weasleys aren't still holding a grudge over your broken enga--”

Hermione silenced Harry with a glare and elbowed him, causing him to rub his arm and send his friend a questioning look. 

“Shall we announce it to the entire student body, then? I don't think Filch heard you from his little post at the end of the hall.” 

He smiled sheepishly at her and ran his hand through his ever-messy black hair; a habit he undoubtedly picked up from his father. “Right. Sorry about that." 

“No worries. We’re on decent enough terms at this point.” A small group of owls flew into the Great Hall at that moment, arriving to deliver the few late packages that missed the morning rounds. She thought she saw a glimpse of black feathers that seemed familiar--

“Speak of the devil!" She exclaimed, the owl dropping a letter in front of her before continuing out of the hall. “That was Bill's owl. They must've found something interesting.” She waved her wand over the letter and felt magic pulsating around it, more than likely meaning it could only be opened by Hermione herself. “Er- sorry, Harry, I have to read this. In private. Surely you understand--"

Harry held up his hands in acknowledgment of the necessary secrecy, displaying that he wasn't taking it personally. “Go on, read your secret letter, then. Leave me out of the loop--" She interrupted his sentence with a quick  _ smack _ over his head with the letter and he gave her a mischievous smile. “In all seriousness, go ahead. But when you return, I do have a favour to ask of you.”

“Favours, favours,” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him as she stood to leave. “ Seems everyone has needed favours from me lately. Alright. We'll discuss when I'm finished. I hope it's good news!” She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice over the potential discoveries her colleagues had made.

She left the Great Hall as quickly as she could without breaking into a full-on sprint; she wanted to read the letter desperately, but didn't want to send the students into a fit of panic because of it. She still felt eyes on her as she slipped out of the Great Hall but was unconcerned as she searched for an empty classroom to safely open Bill's findings. She managed to find one rather quickly - after all, how could a castle this large put to use  _ all _ of its rooms? - and slipped inside, warding the door behind her to alert her if someone tried to enter.

_ Professor Hermione Granger _

_ Great Hall _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, _

_ Scottish Highlands  _

Hermione held her wand over the letter to reveal the blue ward that surrounded it, then gently poked and prodded at the ward itself to allow it to identify her. She hummed to herself as the ward surged underneath her wand, almost as though it was a heart beating with irregular palpitations. It flexed outwards as its movements increased, then stopped all at once before turning a bright green and disappearing into nothingness. Had someone other than Hermione attempted to open the envelope, they would have received a nasty burn and the letter would've burst into flames. She involuntarily shuddered at the thought. 

_ Hermione, _

_ We have reason to believe that there’s a chamber connected to this tomb. There’s something powerful around this area, I can feel it in the air - it’s heavy with magic, so we have to be close. We found some gold and other measly treasures, but the curses protecting them were weak - suspiciously weak. I think it’s just a decoy to distract from what’s really here.  Just a gut feeling, I guess, as we haven’t stumbled upon it yet. But we’re trying to be careful - don’t want to end up like the muggle we found with three heads, y’know. _

_ Will reach out when we find anything more. The lads and I knew you’d be have a spasm without any updates and didn’t really want to receive any howlers anytime soon. _

_ Hope all is well at Hogwarts. Be easy on the students. _

_ Bill  _

Hermione lit the letter on fire with a quick  _ incendio _ and sighed. She was enjoying her time at Hogwarts but was disappointed to miss out on the action back in Egypt. The rush of finding something that’s been hidden from the world for so long was addictive, as was the adrenaline that came from the danger of the potential curses protecting the items. She certainly wouldn’t find that at Hogwarts, but she’d have to make due. She wasn’t the type to bail on a commitment. 

Ensuring there wasn’t a trace of the letter remaining, she removed the ward on the classroom and left, making sure to shut the door behind her before turning to head back out to the Great Hall -- and promptly ran into a tall, immovable object that smelled of cinnamon and parchment. She let out a small squeal of surprise at the unexpected collision and backed up quickly, realizing the ‘immovable object’ was in fact a man’s chest. She felt her cheeks colouring red from embarrassment when the man grabbed onto her elbows to steady her.

“Are you alright, Professor Granger?” 

“Yes, of course, so sorry for bumping into you--” Hermione looked up to see who the appealing voice belonged to and was almost certain that her face caught fire when she finally put a face to the voice.

Of course, of all the people for her to run into and make a fool of herself in front of, it had to be Tom Riddle - Slughorn's golden boy.

He gave her an easy smile, his expression smug from her obvious flustered state. His hands lingered on her a moment too long before he released her and stepped back, allowing her to appreciate him at his full height. He had to be at least 6’3, easily overcoming her meager 5’5, and she found it necessary to remind herself rather explicitly that he was her student and she needed to  _ stop oggling him _ . 

“Not a worry at all. I noticed you leave the Great Hall in quite a hurry and I wanted to ensure nothing distressful caused it.” His voice was laced with concern that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“All is well, Mr. Riddle, I can assure you that,” Hermione said, clearing her throat and straightening her robes - today she decided to go with all black, hoping to look as professional as possible for her first day of teaching. “Thank you for your concern, but following me was unnecessary.” She gave him a small smile to soften her words. “You’re Head Boy! You’ve so much more freedom than you did as a prefect. You’ve better things to do than check up on your new professor.”

“I take my Head Boy duties very seriously, and that extends to the professors as well.” Tom gave her a charming smile that she was certain would make even the nastiest of beasts give pause. “From your familiarity with Head duties, I take that you were Head Girl of your year?” 

“Yes, alongside Harry - excuse me - Professor Potter,” she corrected, chiding herself for not using formal names for her fellow professors. She found it difficult to think of Harry as anything other than, well,  _ Harry _ . “It was a bit overwhelming with all of the NEWT level courses we were taking, but definitely well worth it.”

“It seems we have more in common than I’d thought,” Tom murmured. He looked deeply into her eyes as if he was searching for an answer of sorts, and she felt it develop into a challenge of who would be the first to break eye contact. 

Hermione returned his gaze, but found herself growing uncomfortable with his scrutinizing stare; she couldn’t help but feel he was somehow pinpointing her weaknesses from the simple interaction, and it was she who broke eye contact first. She would’ve sworn she heard a low chuckle slip from him, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she imagined it.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Professor Granger, what made you leave so quickly?”

“Just letters from a colleague, checking to see how I’m acclimating,” she answered in a nonchalant tone, keeping her response as vague as possible. 

His eyes gleamed with interest the same as they did the night before when she spoke of her career; it made his expression appear almost dark - the outlines of his facial structure seemed sharper than she observed yesterday, his cheeks more hollow; she couldn’t help the sense of unease that washed over her from that look. 

“Hopefully some interesting news, then? I can’t imagine you’d rush out during lunch for a simple check-in - it appeared from your pace that you expected quite more than that.”

“Mr. Riddle, you don’t know me well enough to make such assumptions,” Hermione insisted, his commentary and intrusive behavior provoking her. “And frankly, my personal correspondence isn’t anything for you to concern yourself with. If you’re quite finished, we should return to the Great Hall. Lunch will be ending soon and I imagine your friends are missing you.” She gave him a stern look to ensure he understood it was not up for discussion and gestured for him to walk ahead of her. 

She couldn’t describe the look that crossed his face, but it was even less comforting than his expression before; a mixture of anger and disbelief battling for dominance over the other. Hermione thought Tom would try to argue with her, but instead he simply agreed, the turmoil all but gone from his expression.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Head Boy said, bowing his head in mock respect towards her, his tone and body language all but screaming insincerity. Hermione found herself seething over his obvious mocking, and the smug smile he shot her as he turned to leave certainly did nothing but fuel her annoyance. As immature as she knew it was, she found herself glaring at his back as he turned and trailed off, hands casually in his pants pockets and his stride showing nothing but ease.

What a  _ prick. _ Now she understood why Harry described him as oddly quiet; if he opened his mouth, surely his peers wouldn’t think him so perfect when he mocked them as plainly as he did her. 

She scoffed as she remembered Slughorn’s words: ‘had he been in school with you, he’d give you a run for your money!’  _ Certainly not. _

Hermione shook her head at her internal dialogue as she made her way back to the Professor’s table, disappointed at her automatic response to a student. Tom Riddle was merely a boy; an odd one, certainly, but still a boy just the same. She shouldn’t judge his entire character on one chance interaction. She didn’t want to be one of those teachers who didn’t give the students a chance like Professor Snape hadn’t with herself and Harry, whether it was in or out of the classroom. She refused to be the female equivalent of Severus Snape; most notably in hair care - she shuddered at the thought of his greasy mane - but also in kindness and acceptance of her students. She resolved to be less hot-headed and more open-minded as she reclaimed her seat between Slughorn and Harry. 

“Everything alright on the homestead?” Harry asked, finishing off his goblet of water in one large gulp. It appeared he finished his meal while she was gone - something that would have bothered Molly Weasley but did not phase Hermione. She couldn’t care less if someone waited on her arrival to simply sit down and eat a meal. 

“Yes, just Bill checking in,” Hermione replied, trying to quickly eat as much from her plate without appearing to be a total barbarian. Her run-in with the Riddle boy had taken more time than she had thought, and she barely had any time to eat before lunch ended. “Nothing too new.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then my favour might be of interest to you,” Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at her in an absurd manner. 

Hermione snorted and struggled to keep herself from choking on her food. “Oh, yeah? Out with it, then.” She gestured with her fork for him to continue. 

“Would you be interested in being a guest in my class today?” His eyes darted to her face to read her expression. “It’s about cursed and hexed objects. Right up your alley! And y’know, it could be comforting, working on something you’re so familiar with--” Harry rambled on quickly as though the longer he talked the more likely it was that she’d agree.

“That’s next period, right?” She asked, keeping her expression neutral. He nodded eagerly in agreement. “Well, I suppose it  _ is _ my free period..” She pretended to think about it as long as she could before saying yes.

Harry grinned at his best friend in response. “You won’t regret it, Hermione. The look on our students’ faces at your curse-breaking skills will be worth it.”

“I already agreed, Harry, you don’t need to continue to compliment me. Although I am quite good at curse-breaking, aren’t I?” She gave him a cheeky smile and bumped shoulders with him, then wiped her mouth before throwing her napkin over her plate and standing. “I don’t want any details on the curses - it’ll make it more realistic if I don’t know ahead of time.”

Harry stood with her and lead the pair out of the Great Hall, most of the students trailing ahead of them. “I knew you’d be perfect for it.”

She gave him a fond smile as they headed towards Harry’s classroom, and she couldn’t help but feel excitement bubbling in her stomach from the opportunity to show Harry  _ and _ her students just how well-fitted for her position she was. She still enjoyed showcasing why she was called the brightest witch of her age. After all, she was  _ Hermione Granger - _ and old habits certainly die hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who Harry has in his next class? Hmmm...
> 
> Please review/let me know what you're thinking!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated about a week later than I intended, but updated nonetheless! Let me know what you think in the reviews/comments. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine.

Harry and Hermione arrived at his classroom moments before the class was set to begin and Hermione found it difficult to restrain herself from scolding Harry for it; she hated being on time, much preferring to be early and prepared. As they strode to the front of the room she took note of the table holding five separate objects, seemingly mundane. A golden goblet that must've been smuggled from the Great Hall, a quill, a rather old-looking book, a plate, and a diamond necklace. She raised an eyebrow at Harry, eyes darting from him to the necklace, and Harry's face turned scarlet; she recognized it as one he had gifted to Ginny before graduation and wondered why he had it in his possession.

Before she could question him about it, Harry stepped forward, clearing his throat and clapping his hands together. "Alright, class! I've got a bit of a treat for you today - instead of listening to me babble about cursed and hexed items, you'll all get to experience the knowledge firsthand from a certified curse-breaker. For those of you who don't remember, this is Professor Granger, who kindly took over the Arithmancy courses for the year." He gave a wide smile to Hermione, motioning for her to step forward with him. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask; I'll let her take it from here." He let her take the floor, turning to the rolling chalkboard and writing 'Professor Granger' in his sloppy scrawl before sending her a quick wink and retreating to his desk.

"Hullo, class," Hermione greeted, flashing a warm smile to the room. "It appears Professor Potter has covered the bases regarding my introduction, so unless anyone has any preliminary questions, we can proceed—" she gave a brief pause, glancing around the room to ensure she wasn't missing any raised hands. "—Brilliant. So, moving forward!

"Who knows the most important part of curse-breaking?" She rubbed her hands together, partly from her lack of adjustment to the cold, but mostly to show her eagerness about the subject.

A pale hand hung lazily in the air.

"Yes, miss?"

"Bulstrode, ma'am. Isn't the most important part of curse-breaking.. I dunno, breaking curses?" The girl said with a sneer, finding joy within the titters of laughter from her classmates.

"While that certainly is an important part, Miss Bulstrode, it's imperative to ensure not only your safety, but the safety of those around you." Hermione said authoritatively, struggling to keep her smile from turning condescending. She straightened her back and continued. "I applaud you on your clever deduction, however; it is undoubtedly important to break a curse when you're focusing on curse-breaking. It's a shame I'll have to take five points from—Slytherin, is it?—for your tone." She watched as the mirth in the girl's eyes faded into disdain for her temporary Professor—Hermione could picture her teenage self patting her on the back for a job well done of putting a bully in their place.

She watched as some Gryffindors struggled to contain their glee at her immediate shutdown of the Bulstrode girl, while on the opposite end of the spectrum, Slytherins were torn between glaring at Hermione or the daft girl from their house for losing points. Quite frankly, neither were of concern to her, negative or positive; she never was one to tolerate ignorance, intentional or not, and she didn't need acceptance of that from those around her.

Another hand shot up and Hermione noticed blotches of ink stains maring the otherwise alabaster skin; she focused on this rather than the person whom it belonged to and requested they introduce themself.

"I believe we've met, Professor Granger, but for the sake of the continuation of this lesson—I'm Tom Riddle," a familiar baritone responded, his tone laced with traces of amusement. "I've read somewhere that varying curses and hexes require different levels of protection, depending on their severity; how do you decide which spell to cast before beginning?"

She sent him a thankful smile for ushering the class forward and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "Yes, Mr. Riddle, so sorry for the misunderstanding; happy to see you again. Other curse-breakers have a tendency to go about this somewhat recklessly, generally casting a simple  _protego totalum_  to protect themselves and a small area around themselves. Quite luckily, with the help of my colleagues, I've found a bit more helpful way to determine the requirements to remove curses effectively but also safely."

She approached the table holding the cursed items and stood in front of the goblet, removing her wand from her robe pocket. "We've created a spell that colour codes the danger of the curse, using colours similar to that of a muggle stoplight: green shows no curses present, yellow means lower-level danger—usually entailing a hex rather than a curse—and red, which means a potentially dangerous or deadly curse is present on the item. It's important to note that this isn't always fool-proof; for example, a curse could be well disguised or difficult to read. That usually results in a white glow, and we take that with greatest caution. Please take note of the wand movement required for this spell—if done incorrectly, the spell is useless."

She brought her wand in a slow circle hovering above the goblet. " _Umbra periculum,"_  she said clearly and concisely before flicking her wand in a downward motion. The goblet began glowing a soft yellow and she gave a proud smile at it before striding to the chalkboard, writing out  _umbra periculum_  underneath her name still etched on the board. "Not that I foresee anyone needing this spell unless they're particularly interested in pursuing a career in curse-breaking, but it's always good to have information."

Another hand shot in the air, this time dark and well manicured, attached to a Gryffindor student. Before Hermione could call on her, the girl spoke up. "Name's Alicia Spinett, Professor. Why aren't the most powerful protection spells used automatically rather than attempting to detect the strength of a curse? Wouldn't it be simpler to always use the strongest protection spells available rather than risk it?"

Hermione smiled absentmindedly at the question, thinking back to the usefulness of the spell in Egypt. "Well, my colleagues and I have a tendency to use for it for experimental purposes. You see, when we're on location, we're not dealing with curses and hexes of this time; they're spells that have long since been hidden, not fully available to the modern world. We use the spell to detect how dangerous a curse is because if they're not shown to be incredibly dangerous or deadly, we sometimes allow ourselves to be cursed or hexed to learn the properties of the spells.

"Ultimately, we hope to gain a better understanding of them. We hope to have the capabilities to replicate them in the future so we can learn how to properly remedy anything caused by it. Some of the curses we've stumbled upon are the building blocks to current well-known curses; if we can get an understanding of the origin, we can make huge strides towards finding cures for curses that have otherwise been thought permanent.

"Regardless of how secretive we are of our findings, it's impossible to keep the discovery of an old spell hidden for long, as most researchers insist on self-publishing their findings for the greater good of the wizarding community. It's important to get ahead of the crowd and have as much knowledge as possible."

Hermione heard scattered shuffling behind her that unsettled her, but she couldn't turn quickly enough. Harry was behind her in a flash—pulling on her arm firmly, holding up his pointer finger at his students to indicate needing a moment before dragging Hermione behind the chalkboard.

"Let's backtrack a moment.  _You allow yourself to be cursed?"_ Harry whispered furiously, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "Are you  _mental?"_

She grimaced at her best friend and hesitated to answer. "I— We— It's for  _knowledge_ , Harry. If we didn't do it, someone else would! Not to mention how unlikely it is that they'd be knowledgeable enough to rem—"

" _That doesn't mean you're responsible for for the whole mess!_ " His voice rose from a whisper to a frantic squawk, not unlike the sound a mother-hen makes while protecting her chicks. Had it been a situation where his tone wasn't a direct result of something she did, she would've laughed; instead, she punched him in the arm for the breach of secrecy and peeked out behind the board, finding students leaning across desks in order to eavesdrop on their professors' conversation.

"Harry, maybe now's not the best time to get into this—" she nodded her head in the direction of the students almost falling over themselves to listen in. "You'll have to chastise me later for my contribution to society—" She shot him a dirty look, telling him just what she thought of his objections to her work, "—but for now, I have a class to tend to."

He nodded in acknowledgement, mouth set in a firm line and his emerald eyes sparking with anger. She was in for a famous Harry Potter Lecture later, certainly; she couldn't decide if she wanted to groan or stomp her foot in frustration—something she hadn't done since graduating— before straightening her robes and walking back out into the open space of the classroom, attention centered on the students as she returned to the goblet once more.

Hermione took a deep breath and gave them a bright smile, doing her best to pretend Harry had never interrupted in the first place. "Now, the main event: breaking a curse. There are a plethora of ways to go about it, and each curse-breaker has their own way to get the job done. I, personally, prefer to start with a  _finite incantatem;_  simple and straightforward, and works more often than you'd think. If you find yourself stumbling upon a weakly cursed item, chances are that'll do the trick. You'll only need this next part if you happen to stumble upon a really nasty curse or dark item. If  _finite incantatem_  doesn't work, I try to get a feel for it. What I'm about to do might seem odd, but it's  _really_  useful.

"If you put your mind to it, you can will your magic to do things that you otherwise could not verbally ask for it to do. Many in the wizarding world believe your magical abilities are limited to spells you've already learned to cast, and that non-verbal spells can only be done with prior knowledge of a spell—that's simply not the case. You're able to push your magic into accomplishing much more than simple charms and hexes; if you refuse to put a limit on yourself, you'll find your magic can grow with you."

She closed her eyes and held both hands over the goblet, wand fisted in the right and palm open towards the goblet on the left. She imagined pushing her magic forward towards the item, allowing her magic to surround it, falling gently upon it as though it were snow falling from the sky; she urged her magic to analyze and pinpoint the weak points of the curse. She imagined it similar to an aura or a ward, pulsating beneath her hands as though it were a living, breathing being; she searched for a chip, crack,  _anything_  to show the weaknesses of the curse. She finally felt what she could only describe as a gentle tug in her mind, bringing to her attention a miniscule crack in the design located at the bottom of the handle. She smiled triumphantly and opened her eyes, gold swirling wildly with pride.

She pointed her wand at the goblet and cast  _penetrare praesidium_  and picked the goblet up without hesitation. "There we are—a curse-free goblet. It could be returned to the kitchens without a worry of harm from it, and all I had to do was push my magic to find the weakness of the curse. I've found it to be very similar to finding weaknesses in wards."

Murmurs broke out through the classroom and Hermione wasn't sure what to make of it; she worried she'd gone too far in describing the lack of limits when magic is involved, as it's usually taught with rules and restrictions through any formal schooling. It wasn't until she had graduated, discovered curse-breaking, and spent time with very creative, intelligent minds that she saw just how far she could push her magic. She didn't find it fair for students to not know how much they could accomplish if they learned to channel their magic—and with a small frown, she found she almost resented Hogwarts for not allowing young witches and wizards to achieve their full potential.

"Alright, alright," she started, waving a hand to regain the students' attention. "Despite it not being mentioned in your schooling prior to this moment, the principle isn't far-fetched. D'you think Nicolas Flamel created the philosopher's stone without pushing the limits a little? You can't be afraid to try something new; it's  _your_  magic, and ultimately, it will accomplish only what you put time into doing." She looked out to see if she'd made a point to anyone, and she did manage to find understanding in some student's eyes—but none were as understanding as Tom Riddle's. His obsidian orbs glowed with appreciation and absorption, like he'd been speaking a foreign language his entire life and he'd finally met someone who was as fluent as he. It unsettled her slightly—she certainly wasn't surprised that the bright boy knew what she spoke about, but she couldn't help but wonder what he had used his magic to accomplish at seventeen.

"Okay, I think we have time for me to tackle a dangerous curse, yeah? I'm going to go through the first step quickly so we'll have an adequate amount of time to remove the curse properly."

She piled her curly hair into the closest semblance of a bun she could muster and cast a silent sticking spell to keep it out of the way as she advanced towards the diamond necklace sparkling on the table. If she knew Harry well enough—and she definitely did—he'd put the most dangerous curse on the item that was most significant to him. Repeating the movements she presented to the class earlier, she cast  _umbra periculum_ once more; and surely enough, the necklace started glowing a deep red. She smirked victoriously towards Harry, regardless if he understood why, and readdressed the class.

"As I mentioned before, you can always start with  _finite incantatem,_  but it's very unlikely to work on a dangerous curse without pin-pointing weak spots. You can even try others, such as  _auferat malum_ or  _deletrius_ —there's a slim chance you'll get lucky and they'll hit in just the right way, but chances are you'll have to search for its Achilles' heel."

She pushed her magic to find any cracks in the curse once more, describing to the class the steps she takes to do so as well as the feeling she gets when she does it—she always feels her magic traveling through her from somewhere deep in her chest, flowing like a static shock to her arms before pooling in her hands. She explained the warmth she feels as her magic adapts to her needs as well as the tug on her mind that points to the imperfection in the curse. After about five minutes of her efforts, she pointed her wand at a link in the chain and cast  _penetrare praesidium_ and watched as the red glow emanating from the necklace faded into nothingness.

"Once you've found the weakness, no matter how miniscule it might be, you cast a spell to destroy the curse and focus on the area your mind showed you; with enough practice, the spell will attack the exact spot necessary in no time at all. It's slightly different in official curse-breaking, as the older spells we find are a bit trickier, but it's worth the effort." She clasped her hands in front of her and nodded to the class, content with her conclusion.

Harry stood from his desk and approached Hermione's side as he addressed the classroom.

"Alright, everyone; even though we spent a bit more time focusing on the principles of curse-breaking and the general logistics, we will continue practical use next week. I'd like two feet of parchment on the importance of protective spells and the different properties of each," he looked pointedly at the Bulstrode girl before resuming. "With luck, I might get Professor Granger to return and teach you some hands-on spells, or even to participate in a friendly duel to show you some different techniques. Now, off you go! I'll see you on Monday!"

The room was filled with the shuffling of parchment being stuffed into bags as the students began to file out of the classroom, and Hermione took the opportunity to speak with Harry.

"First, there's no bloody way I'm dueling with you in front of students, you're absolutely  _mad_ —"

"I knew you'd like that suggestion—"

"—and  _second_ , you've nothing to worry about when it comes to curse-breaking, Harry. I've got Bill on my side, and you know he'd die before he'd let anything happen to his mates." She softened during the second portion of her sentence, the slightest hint of guilt present from knowing her best friend was only worried about her.

Harry held up his hand and effectively halted her sentence. "We will discuss this later," He said, voice hard but his eyes betraying his forgiveness that was undoubtedly on the horizon. He nudged her with his elbow and nodded his head in the direction of a student approaching them. "Looks like Mr. Riddle was intrigued by your demonstration."

Sure enough, Tom Riddle approached her, a good-natured smile enhancing his features. "Excuse me, Professor Granger," he murmured, looking between her and Harry before continuing. "I was wondering if I could walk you to your classroom on my way to my next class? I find myself rather fascinated by your lecture - I was hoping we could discuss it further."

Hermione was bewildered by the difference in his tone from earlier that day; if she hadn't experienced his attitude personally, she wouldn't believe him to be capable of ever being anything but polite. She felt suspicion creeping into her thoughts again, attempting to taint her impression of the Riddle boy; despite her gut telling her to be wary, she squashed the feeling down. She wouldn't let her mind run wild and lead her to be unkind to a student.

"Yes, of course," she replied, smiling up at Tom. It was difficult to feel she had any authority over someone who towered over her as he did, but she'd gained plenty of confidence in herself through her years of being known as one of the brightest witches of her time—although at one point in her life, her confidence might have leaned more towards arrogance than it should have. She stood a little taller subconsciously before sending Harry a gentle wave. "We'll talk later, Ha- Professor Potter."

Harry simply returned a brief wave before wandering off, his last period being his free period; she could only imagine what things he could get into at Hogwarts being a Professor and having the Marauders Map, but she assumed she'd find out soon enough—Harry wasn't the best at keeping secrets, especially when it came to him finding something new and exciting.

Hermione and Tom exited the classroom and started their journey to the third floor, and although she found it extremely difficult, she refused to do anything but match his long strides. She was unwilling to straggle behind or allow anyone the pleasure of saying she couldn't keep up.

"So, Professor Granger—I'm surprised your lecture centered around magic that usually remains dormant inside most magical folk. However did you manage to convince the Headmaster to approve the subject?"

"Hmmm," she pretended to contemplate his question for a moment before responding, feeling as though he already knew the answer. "Well, if we're running on the assumption that I asked for permission, I'd probably say I presented the subject over tea and biscuits to butter him up so he'd be more likely to approve it; however, I did not ask for permission, so I suppose the point is moot, Mr. Riddle."

A small chuckle escaped before he could suppress it. "I figured as much, but I didn't expect you to admit it so easily."

"No point in being dishonest," she shrugged, mindlessly trying to tuck her hair behind her ear before remembering it was still in a messy bun atop her head. "It seemed like you were already familiar with the subject—is it something you've been working on?"

They reached the moving staircase and hopped on, Tom leaning his back against the railing comfortably—it was something she would be weary to do, knowing how jarring the stairs could be when locking in place. She shuffled to hide her hand clasping the rail in the hopes he wouldn't notice her juvenile fear.

"It's something I've dabbled in," he responded nonchalantly before shifting the conversation back to her. "How did you find information about it?"

"Well, I didn't hear much of it until I graduated," they moved to the next set of stairs, one step closer to their destination. "There are a few books in the library that mention untapped magical potential, but they don't go into much detail."

"So I've discovered."

"I had a feeling you'd already looked into it."

"The resources here, while helpful in the past, are not always useful. I know I'm capable of more than what is being taught here, and it's difficult to self-train something you're unfamiliar with."

"I understand that notion completely, Mr. Riddle," she said softly, looking up to evaluate his expression and finding a crestfallen student, disappointed by the refusal of his superiors to teach him something that would undoubtedly be beneficial to his future. It made her stomach flip uncomfortably and she remembered how she had felt similarly when she discovered what their educational system was intentionally withholding. She knew how unfair it was, and she didn't want to be the type of professor to knowingly deny her students the opportunity to learn.

They reached the third floor and approached her classroom in an awkward silence, avoiding the sixth-year students scrambling in the doorway to get their preferred seating. The pair stood there, staring at each other uncomfortably before Tom made to leave.

"Well, I'll let you get to your class, Professor Granger—"

"Wait!" Hermione reached out and almost grabbed his arm to stop him, but it was unnecessary; he had already stopped and was now looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak.

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip nervously, silently analyzing her options before she spoke up. "I haven't quite worked it out in my head, but I'm going to try to figure out a way to help you practice harnessing your magic." She said quickly, struggling to get the words out. She assumed it was something that was unlikely to be approved of by the Board of Governors, but she simply couldn't let Tom continue to practice by himself. She convinced herself that it was because he could cause himself harm—not because she was oddly drawn to him and wanted to pick his brain. From the talk around the castle, he was just as smart as she was, and it wasn't something she had encountered before. She similarly convinced herself it had nothing to do with his jawline that looked like it had been expertly carved by a revered sculptor, nor how his dark hair was always a perfect mess of curls—just enough to make it seem effortless, but never to the point that it was unkempt. No, she had decided her interest in him rested entirely in concern for his safety and to ensure he received the teaching a bright mind like his deserved.

"We'll talk about this later, but just—know that I'll figure out a way."

A slow smile started spreading across his face that brightened his features as it grew into a thankful grin, his white teeth all but sparkling. It distracted from how the happiness didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you, Professor Granger," he said slowly, putting emphasis on each word as his voice dripped with appreciation. "I'll put time in whenever I can—just tell me what works for you and I'll be there."

"Don't mention it—seriously, don't mention it," she added in afterthought. "I don't need any extra attention drawn to this until I speak with Professor Dumbledore, so keep this conversation secret, yeah?"

"Absolutely." His eyes flashed with something she couldn't describe before he looked at his watch. "I have to leave—Don't want to be late. I'll speak with you later, Professor."

Hermione nodded and said her goodbyes as he walked off, his long stride helping him to quickly disappear around the corner.

She took a calming breath and released her hair from its sticking charm and struggled to flatten it before entering her classroom. She fought to push her thoughts about Tom Riddle and her feeling of making a deal she would soon regret as far down inside her as she could manage. She still wasn't sure what was different about Tom Riddle from the rest of the students, but she had a feeling she would soon find out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this story is not beta read, so any mistakes are my own. Thank you for continuing to read and for all of your kind commentary! Even if you haven't commented, I still appreciate you continuing on with me and for the Kudos that've been left. Here we go!

After the calm weekend Hermione had, she expected her week to be much the same; she was excited to really delve into things with her students and be able to share her knowledge without forcing it upon unwilling bystanders. Granted, she may still be forcing knowledge upon some, but they were her students—it was much more socially acceptable that way.

Unfortunately, things in Hogwarts had a tendency to take a turn for the worst at the drop of a wand, and the local rumour mill seemed to have churned out another wildly false claim: this time centered around  _her._

The students weren't taking too kindly to her friendship with Harry—the students bothered were largely female, excluding the few odd males who decided to join in on the witch hunt—and had decided to start a bit of a battle with their newest professor.

Hell, Harry even had to prevent her from drinking her coffee in the morning, swearing that he had spotted a student try to slip a puking pastille in before the rest of the professors arrived for their breakfast. While she was previously enamoured with the business the Weasley twins had put together, she wasn't as amused when the pranksters' genius was directed towards her.

Unfortunately, her bad luck hadn't stopped there. She could handle the sneers and whispers that accompanied her wherever she went; she was, after all, the insufferable know-it-all of her year at Hogwarts (something that Harry suggested she should trademark—if she was going to have it brought up every time she was around, she should  _at least_  benefit from it financially).

But she simply couldn't handle Peeves catching wind of the rumour and torturing her more than the students were. His voice was nails on a chalkboard as he floated through the corridors.

_Wee-Potty and Granger, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes snogs, then comes MARRIAGE—_

She had attempted in vain to get him to stop; first asking kindly, then resorting to demands and stomping her foot—he had found that to be a right riot, his obnoxious cackling reverberating throughout the corridors and drawing even more attention to Hermione.

_Ooooh, GRANGER DANGER! BETTER NOT BE NAUGHTY, POOR WEE-POTTY, OR SHE MIGHT JUST PUT YOU OVER HER KNEE!_

Hermione had been horrified, to say the least. She avoided eye contact with her students as much as possible, knowing that their imaginations were running wild and praying to Merlin and all things holy that they didn't truly believe that she would  _spank_  Harry.

And that bloody prat hadn't even affected by it! He was doubled over with laughter the entire time Peeves belted his taunting songs off-key, and hadn't stopped even after she gave him a swift but powerful kick to the shin.

_Aw, c'mon, 'Mione, he's just messing about—is it really that awful to be in a relationship with me?_

She seethed at the thought, knowing that  _he_  wasn't the one getting things slipped into his drink;  _he_  wasn't getting dirty looks every time he turned a corner—no.  _He_  could simply sit back and laugh, not worry about a thing, while she had to deal with the onslaught of sneers from the students and jokes from Peeves.

Men always got off easy, didn't they?

* * *

The end of her classes couldn't've come any more quickly; by the time her seventh years were stuffing their school-bags and leaving her room, she was exhausted. She dropped her head into her hands, shielding her eyes from the incoming headache that always coincided with any large amount of stress she encountered. She was ready to crawl in bed and pretend the day had never happened, hide from the world for just one night; the transition from seeing three other people a day to a few hundred was overwhelming her senses. The noise, lack of personal space, and inability to think to herself for even five minutes at a time made her irritable, despite her best efforts to stay in good spirits—and after the day she had, she found herself regretting returning to Hogwarts, even knowing that she still would've accepted the position regardless of what she was currently enduring.

"Professor?"

A low voice interrupted her internal complaints, and she slowly lifted her head from hands, wincing at the influx of light largely differing from the darkness supplied by her palms.

"Yes, give me just a moment—" She blinked a few times, willing her eyes to focus on the person in front of her. "—Oh, Mr. Riddle! So sorry for—well—" she gestured to her herself in general, finding herself at a loss for words of what she was actually apologizing for.

"No need to apologize, ma'am," he chuckled, not unkindly; a pleasant surprise after all that she had dealt with that day. "I'm the one who disturbed you. I simply came to see if you'd had the opportunity to speak with Dumbledore about our private lessons?" Tom gave her an amiable smile, his straight white teeth only adding to his appeal.

"Yes, I actually have. First bit of good news I' have to share today, actually—Professor Dumbledore has agreed to allow private lessons outside of class, as long as I keep him informed of progress."

His answering grin was brilliant, and she could've sworn her heart stuttered at the sight; his entire face seemed to glow, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw. Her mouth went dry and she struggled to keep it shut, not willing to openly gape at a student, no matter how bloody good-looking he was—

"That's great to hear, Professor. My apologies if this comes across as rude or impatient of me, but is that something we could start this week? I find myself very eager to begin." His eyes shone with greed, a look she had been told could be found in her own eyes whenever it came to attaining knowledge—so why did it make her want to squirm in her chair when she saw it in his?

"That would be nice, honestly—I could use a bit of a distraction after my general assault from the female population."

"Oh, regarding your relationship with Professor Potter? I've heard that from a person or two—"

"Merlin's beard—I am not in a relationship with Harry!" Hermione responded a little too loudly, standing from her seat and throwing her hands in the air in frustration. "Is it impossible to be  _friends_  with someone in this castle without being bloody well  _ostracized_?"

Tom's mouth twitched at her outburst and she scowled openly at him.

"I assume that was a rhetorical question; at any rate, I'll wager a response—yes, it  _is_  nearly impossible."

"It was rhetorical, yes, but thanks for the confirmation." She grimaced, not wanting to address how their conversation had turned wholly too personal.

"Happy to help." He gave her a cheeky smile and leaned against the table at the front of the room, hands resting behind him to support his weight.

She felt her eyes move on their own accord to his uniform and took notice of his sweater conforming perfectly to his abdomen. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes back to his.

She swore she could detect humour in them, as though he had noticed her quick scan of his body—she cursed internally at herself and her hormones as her cheeks flushed, burning a path from her chest and neck.

"I—Well—sorry for the sudden outburst," Hermione quickly tried to draw attention from her inappropriate wandering eyes. "I'm not used to being back in the general population, I suppose, and could probably brush up on my manners."

"No need to apologize. Your honesty—although quite abrupt, I'll admit—is refreshing." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, brushing off her self-deprecation. "I didn't think there was any truth behind the rumours, anyway."

"I appreciate that," she gave him a weary smile.

"Peeves does have quite the pitch range though, doesn't he? I wouldn't be surprised if the entire castle was singing in unison with him tomorrow. Granger danger?  _Instant_ classic."

"You're joking, right? Please, tell me you're joking." Hermione groaned and held back a shudder, already imagining the chorus of voices following her everywhere she went.

"I suppose we'll find out tomorrow." He responded grimly, shrugging his shoulders. Had it not been for the corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly, she would've decided right then and there to stay in her room for the entirety of the next day.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head, returning her attention to the entire reason he had stopped by.

"Putting my woes aside, when would be most convenient for you to start our lessons?" She sat back down at her desk and shuffled parchment around, searching for a free space to jot down their decision.

Tom hummed absentmindedly, chewing his bottom lip as he assumedly ran his schedule through his head. With his brow furrowed in thought, she felt he looked much older than merely seventeen—but that was neither here nor there.

"Well, I'm available on Tuesdays and Thursdays after dinner, if that's agreeable to you," he stated. He approached her desk and she was once more reminded of just how tall he was, his shadow enveloping her from her seat. She craned her neck to look up at him and felt positively dwarfed in comparison to him—a feeling that wasn't quite comforting to her. Looking at him from this angle, his features seemed even darker than usual; his already obsidian eyes now reminded her of a bottomless pit, with one misstep leading to an endless drop into oblivion. His boyish half-smile even appeared misplaced, almost like a caricature of what a true smile should be. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, knowing that her imagination was simply running wild from her frazzled brain after the stressful day she had, but she couldn't shake the ominous feeling that was emitting from the student in front of her.

"Professor Granger?"

She startled, not realizing she had left a gap in their conversation.

"Yes! Sorry, I've several things running through my mind—"

"Are you feeling well? It looks like you've seen a boggart." His deep voice was laced with concern and his forehead creased as he examined her face.

"Just a rather long day," she gave him a reassuring smile to deter him from delving further. "Tuesdays and Thursdays work well for me, so we can begin tomorrow. We really should get to dinner now, actually—can't miss out on the treacle tarts, they're quite the commodity—"

He looked at her questioningly and she worried that he'd push the subject and ask even more about her too obvious facial expressions, but he seemed to think better of it. He nodded instead, and she breathed a sigh of relief—whether it was his business or not, she wasn't bloody well going to tell a student that he sometimes made her skin break out in gooseflesh from the creepy vibes that all but radiated from his skin.

_Actually, I'm not doing too well—y'see, Tom, while you're certainly a kind, intelligent young man, you sometimes make me feel like you could reach over and strangle me without a second thought. Have I also mentioned that you're very handsome and I've fantasized about snogging you? No? Okay, I suppose that's a conversation for later. Now, how about that dinner?_

She snorted internally. That wouldn't go over well.

"Shall I accompany you, Professor? I don't mind keeping my bag with me instead of dropping by the dungeons."

"Oh, that's quite alright! I have to—um—organize some of these papers, then I'll be on my way. Do go ahead." She motioned for him to leave, looking down at the parchment sprawled across her desk so she wouldn't have to openly avoid eye contact with him any longer.

Sure, she was a Gryffindor—but she didn't always have to be brave, right?

She listened for the sound of his receding steps and didn't look up until she was certain he had left.

_What in Merlin's name had she gotten herself into?_

* * *

Hermione returned to her classroom the following evening after dinner, anxious to start her lessons with someone she felt could truly be her intellectual equal (it had been suggested by Slughorn the night before that Tom Riddle could have the skill-set to surpass her at some point, and she vehemently protested the thought- equal? Possibly. Superior? Over her dead body).

She contemplated removing her outer robes to eliminate the feeling that these private lessons would be held in the same manner of her other courses, but ultimately decided against it. Her body temperature couldn't possibly continue to support her if she willingly removed another layer of protection from the chilling drafts of the castle; she was already having a difficult enough time with the extra clothing she was outfitted in. No warming charm could penetrate the cold she felt down to her bones. She missed the warmth that Egypt provided her even in the darkest of tombs, and certainly missed not having to wear fifty bleeding layers of clothing to even feel slightly comfortable.

She heard the tapping of leather shoes against the stone floor and was greeted by the sight of Tom entering the room. She flushed as she remembered how out of character she was the previous day and knew she'd have to explain to him that simply wasn't the way she was—Hermione Granger would  _never_  act informally with a student, no matter how irritated or overwhelmed she had been. She was a professional, even with this being her first teaching position, and was worried she had already overstepped.

"Good evening, Professor," Tom greeted, bowing his head slightly towards her and placing his schoolbag at the desk at the front of the room. His tone and expression were both painstakingly polite, the shining example of a well-mannered student.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle," she returned with a cheery smile. "Are you prepared to do some practical magic?"

"Absolutely, ma'am." His posture remained rigid and voice devoid of any true emotion.

She felt a knot begin to form in her stomach.

"Please, call me Hermione. If we're to be working one-on-one on a subject that requires knowing oneself rather intimately, I feel you should be comfortable addressing me by my first name—during these extra lessons, of course."

"Of course," he repeated, pulling out a chair and sitting down, gesturing for her to do the same.

She hesitated before sitting down as well. She was too used to refusing to listen to direction from anyone but herself that she couldn't prevent the delay in movement as she commanded her body to sit down instead of continuing to stand out of spite. She didn't like being told what to do, even if it was the simplest of instructions.

He quirked an eyebrow at her awkward and abrupt movements, but didn't comment on them. He pulled at the legs of his pants to sit more comfortably, revealing black dress socks; she wondered briefly if he was the type to wear sock garters.

"Mr. Riddle—"

"If I'm to call you Hermione, you must call me Tom," he interjected.

"—Alright,  _Tom,_ then—" she corrected with a quick smile, "I hope you can forgive me for the way I acted yesterday. I was simply out of line talking to you as casually as I did, and that's not something a well-learned professor would do—"

"Actually, it was a pleasant surprise," Tom interrupted. "Teachers don't often speak so candidly with their students, that portion is true—but it's…  _reassuring_ ," He tested the word on his tongue before committing to it, "yes,  _reassuring_ , to see that professors can have off-days just as any student has. It makes you more relatable."

"I—Well—" She struggled to find her train of thought. "I s'ppose I can't complain about being relatable. I'm not used to being out of my comfort zone when it comes to societal roles. With the amount of tutoring I did while in Hogwarts, I thought I'd be better prepared to transition to teaching formally. I don't want to overstep any boundaries." She absentmindedly played with the hair at the end of her plait, a tell-tale sign that she wasn't quite comfortable with the theme of the conversation being centered around her shortcomings.

"Trust me, Hermione," Tom said earnestly, giving her a charming smile and leaning towards her. "You've no need to worry about overstepping boundaries with me."

"Well, that's comforting," She said despite the way her stomach clenched at his words. Her teeth ached from the sweetness of his tone, and had he been a colleague or stranger of similar age, she would've thought he was flirting with her. "I'll keep that in mind. Shall we begin?"

He nodded immediately—ever the perfect representation of the eager student—and she let out a soft laugh; it was odd to see someone as keen as she about learning. She wondered if she ever looked half as attractive as he did right at that moment, and immediately knew the answer. She hadn't ever bothered to look decent throughout school, not caring if others found her hair to be a disaster or her clothes wrinkled. It seemed as though Tom had a reputation to upkeep, however, and to be seen as unkempt would be seriously out of character.

"How familiar are you with nonverbal and wandless magic?"

"I've dabbled a time or two."

"Well, seeing as you are at least somewhat knowledgeable on the subject, do you care to show me what you can do?"

He nodded and stood, moving his school-bag to the ground before closing his eyes momentarily. It wasn't long before a small flame sprung from his palm, creating a fire on the table before him. He raised his hand and the fire grew with it, taller and taller until she was certain they wouldn't be able to contain it; he glanced over at her, studying her expression briefly before he abruptly halted the fire's ascent and casted it away with one wave of his hand, leaving behind no sign that a fire had ever been.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she had to stop herself from hanging her mouth open like one of those obscene muggle dolls.

"I'd say that's a bit more than dabbling, Tom." She gazed in awe at him before she could stop herself; it wasn't like he summoned Merlin himself or anything of the like, but she hadn't known any self-proclaimed beginner to be capable of what he just did.

Tom smiled smugly and bowed deeply to her in an extravagant gesture, modeling down to the twirling of his hand a subject bowing in respect to his queen; the whole thing was such a farce she couldn't keep herself from snorting.

"I s'ppose I ought to keep my compliments to myself, lest your head grow any larger and you can't fit out the door." She grumbled, more to herself than to him.

Tom barked out a loud laugh that appeared to be so filled with joy that she had to join in despite her continued annoyance with him.

"I don't think I'm  _that_  bad; I'm just very self-assured." He straightened his robes and smiled brilliantly—Hermione almost expected a soft  _ping_  to sound out, an exaggeration of how bright his teeth were.

"I hesitate to say this in the fear that it'll only encourage your arrogance more, but that bit of magic was impressive. How long have you been practicing?"

"About a year," He replied quickly, shrugging his shoulders as though that particular magic was no great task.

She doubted that  _greatly_ —no matter how brilliant a person is, it takes time to master something so difficult. It had taken her at least two years, if not three, and the constant help of her colleagues; hell, she still found herself learning about it as the days passed.

"Are you sure about that?" She responded, setting her jaw and crossing her arms in front of her. She wasn't fond of being lied to, especially over a subject as menial as this. What could he possibly have to hide about practicing magic?

"I think it goes without saying, Hermione—unless you've something to say to me?" His tone was silvery and light, but she could feel the dangerous undertones; it was a stark contrast to his previous playful mood, his voice now a shallow mockery of what it had been.

She merely glared at him, her chin raised stubbornly. He returned the sentiment.

Hermione wasn't sure when their silent argument would end, but she could guarantee that she wouldn't be the first to break, no matter how childish—

"Hey, 'Mione, hope you didn't come back to your classroom to brood about Peeves—"

Hermione and Tom's staredown was interrupted by a brief chuckle, cut short upon the intruder realizing that the person he sought out was not alone.

"Er—Sorry—Am I interrupting something? I couldn't find you in your chambers and figured you were working in here—"

Hermione quickly snapped out of her trance, her frizzy hair splaying wildly as she turned to greet her best friend with a too-bright smile.

"No reason to fret, Harry. I've started tutoring Tom after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd completely forgotten." Harry looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet awkwardly and running his hand through his hair.

Tom snorted quietly at his other professor and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

Hermione glowered at him, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She wished desperately that he could read her thoughts at that moment; if he could, he'd be very aware of just how many curses she knew and who she'd like to aim them at.

"It's okay, Harry, honestly." She told Harry reassuringly, unfisting her hands to touch his arm and gently regain his attention. "Tom and I were just finishing up, actually—weren't we, Tom?"

Tom stared at her blankly for a moment before responding.

"Absolutely. If I've any further questions, I'll bring them up during our next meeting." His tone returned to the polite baritone it almost always was, but she knew better—he was telling her that their conversation most certainly was not over.

"Brilliant." She struggled to keep her smile from transforming into a grimace as she watched him gather his bag and nod to both his professors before heading out the door. She had to restrain herself from sighing in relief; she was way too happy to see her student leave.

Harry readjusted his glasses absentmindedly and looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Why do I have the feeling I interrupted something much more intense than you're leading on?"

Hermione threw her head back and laughed, relief washing over her from the familiarity of Harry's questioning nature.  _This_  was something she was comfortable with.

"Oh, Harry," she shook her head and looped her arm through his, dragging him out of her classroom. "I've missed you."

She delved animatedly into conversation with Harry, hoping in vain that she would be able to forget the red glint that sparked to life in Tom's eyes, not unlike the fire he had created with only his hands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo there’s that chapter! Next chapter will skip a few weeks ahead; first Hogsmeade trip and some much needed drama between.. Well, pretty much everyone. If you’re at all interested in seeing any scenes through Tom’s POV, leave me a review/comment or message me on Tumblr about what part you’d like to see and I’ll get a companion piece going. Tumblr is marauderswagger. Thank you so, so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, I think you've mastered the destructive portion of our lessons," Hermione coughed out, spluttering from the bits of stone and dust lingering in the air. She waved her hand in front of her face to attempt to clear her vision and airways and took note of Tom rolling his eyes at her expense.

"You've quite the flare for dramatics, Professor," Tom drolled. He waved his hand in one fluid motion and the stone wall separating her classroom from another began to quickly reassemble itself, every bit and piece returning to its rightful position. In a matter of seconds, the crumbled wall had returned to its original state, solid and sturdy as it was before. Nobody would be the wiser of Tom having destroyed it only moments before without the slightest hint of strain.

Hermione raised her eyebrows—a motion she found herself repeating over the past month more often than she'd like to admit—at the ease in which he brought to life any thought or desire that crossed his mind.

Tom was brilliant, to say the least, and that wasn't something she had ever used to describe another human being outside of herself. While it may come off as arrogant to others, it was simply the truth; most didn't have the mental capacity to keep up with her.

But Tom?

Tom mastered everything she could think to challenge him with. It had taken her  _weeks_  to be able to reassemble anything she had destroyed of larger scale, and it had only taken him days.

It pissed her off, honestly, how effortlessly ideas came to fruition for him. The only person who had ever come close to reaching her level of academia in school was Draco Malfoy, and he was never someone she had even slightly worried about. Even with the five years she had on Tom, his intelligence rivalled so closely to hers, and it made her nervous. Her entire identity was centered around being the most intelligent person in the room at all times, and she wasn't entirely certain who she was outside of that persona.

It felt like the gods were playing a cruel joke on her, placing someone as smart as Tom in her class to constantly draw attention to her shortcomings.

And the gods were undoubtedly cruel when they created Tom Riddle.

They had blessed him with every positive attribute she could imagine. He was bloody gorgeous—there was no point in trying to deny it at this point, it was simply the truth—and she doubted she had ever met another man as well designed as he. Every motion he made, every breath he took, seemed to be calculated in a way to be appealing. The way his broad chest rose and fell when he sighed, the way he relaxed into a chair like it was the most comfortable seat in the world,. He made it feel like it was a privilege to watch him existing so gracefully. He seemed to fit no matter what scenario he was placed in, and that was something that she would kill for.

It would only be fair for him to be capable of adapting to his surroundings and nothing more—that sure, he was beautiful and well-liked, and that was where it ended.

Unfortunately, life never seemed to be fair for Hermione.

His mind was sharp and clever, and that combined with his overwhelming amount of positive attributes made a deadly combination.

She felt too many times that he had used his charisma and persuasive skills to get his way. She had turned corners in the expansive corridors of the castle and stumbled upon him whispering amongst his housemates. They always appeared to be clinging to every word he said, drinking in his kind expressions and pleased smiles.

Whenever he noticed her, his dark eyes would dart to hers, and she could swear that his mouth would curve into a smirk, cruel and unfitting on such an angelic face. It felt wrong to see him look like that—like someone had taken a beautiful painting and purposefully marred the features, turning art into horror.

She had tried to convince herself time and time again that she was exaggerating. She was simply projecting her fears onto this innocent boy, her mind trying to compensate and find some flaw in him to make him seem real. Her imagination was in overtime, searching for some form of danger to protect herself from, compensating for the lack of adventure that was plaguing her dreams. She had been constantly on edge for years and without a scenario to fear, she was creating one.

But she still couldn't control the way interacting with him felt taboo. She couldn't shake the feeling that the more she tutored him, the more entangled she became in the mystery that was Tom Riddle.

Yes, the gods were certainly cruel, and she wished she could repent for whatever horrible act she committed that caused them to punish her so.

"Something on your mind, Professor?" Tom asked, strolling towards where she was sitting on top of her desk with her ankles crossed, her legs swinging absentmindedly. "You've been zoning out an awful lot. Is my unprecedented success at wandless magic starting to bore you?" His mouth formed a half-smile, both arrogant and cheeky to fit his mood.

Hermione coughed out a startled laugh and shook her head, her riotous curls following the movement haphazardly. "Wandless magic will  _never_  bore me. However, tutoring you has lead me to question your capabilities of doing something that doesn't involve decimating anything you'd like."

He sighed dramatically, appearing to be disgruntled and very put out by her observation.

"If it's really something that's bothering you.."

She watched as he focused on a quill laying beside her that began rapidly changing, its features becoming disfigured and morphing into a long, green object. She blinked, leaning closer to make out what the object was—

"Oh, bloody  _fuck_ —" She leapt down from her desk, quickly uncrossing her ankles and stumbling away from the area, scrambling to regain steady footing to keep her face from meeting the cold stone floor beneath her.

Tom had transfigured the quill into a snake. Something that she should have foreseen by him being the bloody Slytherin Head Boy, but overlooked due to the extremely unlikely probability of him mastering that level of transfiguration wordlessly.

His lips hadn't even twitched or tried to form the words necessary for the spell; he simply looked steadily at the quill and turned it into a bloody  _snake._

"Well, that's not the reaction I was expecting," Tom said innocently despite barely concealing his laughter, mirth dancing in his eyes at her expense. "I'm terribly sorry, Professor. I was unaware of your fear of snakes." He chuckled deeply, seeming to laugh at a private joke she wasn't included in.

Her face immediately caught fire and she was certain that even Merlin himself could see her embarrassment. She straightened her robes in an attempt to gather any dignity she had remaining and let out a steady breath, determined to pretend like she didn't just swear loudly in front of a student and almost break her neck scrambling away from a small snake.

"It's not everyday a student decides to conjure up a snake to show their capacity to do something other than harm." She sniffed, lifting her chin to hopefully disguise her blush.

"I suppose that's fair," Tom said thoughtfully, stroking the snake with his index finger. "But snakes are nothing to be afraid of. They're usually quite kind and keep to themselves. They're only dangerous if you irritate them."

"As lovely as it is to have that knowledge, I think I've seen enough of it."

Not trusting herself to cast it away properly without a wand, she pointed hers at the snake and willed it back into a quill, loosing a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. She pocketed her wand in her robe and found Tom staring at her, cocking his head to the side like a confused dog.

"Why were you unable to perform the spell wandlessly?"

"It's not that I was  _unable_ , it's that I felt it would be better completed with a wand. If I'm not comfortable with a spell, especially if I'm nervous, I'd rather get it done correctly with a wand than half-arsed without one."

"Are you saying I make you nervous?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione stared at him incredulously. Surely she heard him incorrectly, there was no way he would ask such a straightforward question—

"Do I make you nervous, Hermione?" He pushed off from where he was leaning on her desk and approached where she was standing, long legs closing the distance in no time. He stopped mere centimeters away, eyes burning with an emotion that she couldn't quite grasp.

"I—You—What? Of course not." She blurted quickly, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart raced from both his blunt questioning and closeness. "I'm your Professor, Tom. I'm impressed by your skills, but that's where it ends. What made me nervous was that bloody snake you decided to transfigure—"

He examined her face, eyebrows furrowing as though he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for. His tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips, lighting something inside her abdomen on fire.

"Right."

"Besides, it's pretty overwhelming to think about how we're the shining examples of muggleborns being capable of powerful magic—"

He jerked away from her as if shocked, his face morphing into something feral.

"It seems you're mistaken,  _Professor."_  Tom bit out, the words barely heard through gritted teeth. "I come from a very respected wizarding family. I'm not a mudb— _muggleborn._ " He corrected himself before completely saying the slur, but she still felt the sting of it.

She flinched visibly, shocked by the shift in his mood and the atmosphere in her classroom. It felt like the air had suddenly become solid, weighing down on her chest and preventing her lungs from working properly.

Hermione reapproached the safety of her desk and crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

"Riddle isn't a common wizarding name."

"My  _muggle father_  happened to impregnate a woman from a very noble bloodline." He sneered, spitting the words as though they were poisonous and certain to infect his bloodstream if he kept them in a moment longer.

"Congratulations on your blood status, then. It's a shame you're unable to accept both halves of your existence."

His eyes were endless pits of darkness as his stare bore into her, shadows casting onto his face that eliminated the polite school-boy persona that he wore so well.

"My existence consists wholly of powerful magic. There's nothing muggle about me."

"Except your name." She corrected, feeling her irritation flow throughout her body like lava, warming her to her core. She set her jaw stubbornly, unwavering on her stance of the matter.

"Names can be changed." He said, reminding her of a petulant child.

"You never struck me as the type to be so concerned about one's blood purity. It's surprising to see someone as intelligent as you make such a foolish decision based on biases originating from inbred lunatics."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a shaky breath. She could visibly notice the restraint he was attempting to put on himself, his muscles constricted and noticeable underneath his white button up.

"Professor, I don't have a problem with  _you_ being muggleborn—"

"Oh, thank  _Merlin_ , you're alright with my blood being  _dirty_."

"—I have a problem with others thinking of me as  _less than_. Like I'm not one of the best wizards in history merely because of my blood status. If getting recognition for my strengths means acting like mudbloods are the scum of the earth, it's the price I pay. Being half-blood doesn't cut it. I have to act as though I have the purest of blood, like my fucking muggle father's dirty blood doesn't run through my veins—"

"It seems like you have it all sorted out, then."

"—What?" He stopped his rambling and looked up to see Hermione gathering up the parchment on her desk, refusing to even spare him a glance.

"If you think that muggleborns—sorry,  _mudbloods_ —" she corrected spitefully, venomous on her tongue, "aren't worth your time, then we're done here. You'd do well to find a pureblood to teach you what you'd like to know. We wouldn't want to taint your learning experience by you gaining knowledge from someone worth less than you."

"Hermione, that isn't what I meant—"

She looked up, face cold and expressionless, and held up her hand to silence him.

"It's Professor Granger, Riddle. And our time here is over. Consider our lessons suspended indefinitely. I'll inform the Headmaster in the morning."

Tom approached her desk quickly, several emotions crossing his face: anger, disbelief,  _panic._

She restrained herself from flinching and held steady, unwilling to negotiate on the matter.

"Professor, this wasn't my intention at all. You're brilliant. I've been learning a great deal from you, I've  _never_  thought of you as anything less than capable. You don't understand—"

Hermione sighed heavily. She couldn't help but be extremely disappointed by the outcome of the lesson; never in a million years did she think it possible for Tom to be so naive when it came to him being so obviously  _wrong._

"Please, Professor. You must reconsider."

"We'll discuss this later. For now my decision stands, but I won't go to Dumbledore until we take time to speak again. I'd like for you to really reevaluate your decisions, Tom," she said earnestly, willing him to listen to her about this if nothing else, "don't let others shape your opinions of the world—experience things, then form opinions for  _yourself."_

"Of course, Professor. I'll take your suggestion into consideration." He stood rigidly, jaw ticking in annoyance. She assumed her pointing out his mistakes was a sore spot for him as well as it was for her.

"You can leave now. Return to your dormitory."

He turned on his heel and grabbed his bag, not looking back at her once as he exited her classroom.

She slammed her hand down on her desk the moment he was out of hearing range. She knew it was childish and an overreaction at best, but she was so exasperated she didn't have it in her to reason with herself.

Over the past month she had been under the impression that she had built a rapport with Tom. She truly felt like she found a kindred soul in him; they both were misunderstood for their brilliance, both with tendencies to question everything and crave answers. They had fallen into a steady rhythm together—he had even started staying after class to help her with grading or simply to keep her company, under the guise of having important questions that needed to be answered immediately. They would always find something to argue about, but she took comfort in it; their arguments were always intellectually fueled—well, for the most part. Some of it was caused by him purposefully picking at something he knew would infuriate her, causing them to get in a heated debate over something as trivial as Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration (he would insist there was a way to work around the law, rightfully incensing Hermione. It was a  _law_. There was no work-around.)

She knew he would cause arguments on purpose to see her react, but it never bothered her—she rather enjoyed it, albeit shamefully. She enjoyed the back and forth banter the two shared and liked having someone to talk to that could understand any topic she was interested in.

While her attraction to him was inappropriate—and something she found herself battling on a daily basis—she was entirely comfortable with being friends with him. It was much more acceptable to be friendly with students than to be intimate, and it was something that didn't irritate her moral compass horribly.

She had been foolish. How could she trust and confide in someone who despised her for her very existence?

Her stomach knotted uncomfortably and dread settled into her like she was its home.

She desperately hoped he would realize that his biases were not his own; that he would see how woefully wrong he was and come to his senses.

But not for her sake. For his.

She didn't want him to live a life that was restricted so horribly by racism and bias that an ugly shadow would cloud his view of the world. He was incredibly intelligent and could do wonderous things with the power and knowledge he held—he was only restricting himself by judging people by their blood status rather than their capabilities.

Despite everything that happened and the worry that riddled her mind, she still found herself thinking of the pleased look that flashed across his face momentarily when he thought he made her nervous—an image that remained as she drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Hullo, 'Mione," Harry greeted the next day during lunch. "I thought you'd look a bit better after you had some time to wake up, but you still look like shit."

"Sometimes I have to ask myself if your friendship is really worth the restraint necessary to keep myself from murdering you."

"Depends on the day, I s'ppose." He grinned brightly at her, green eyes twinkling with joy.

Now that he was a professor, he was so carefree about everything; it was rare to see him angst-ridden as he so often was growing up. It was such a pleasant change for him, and she was thrilled that he had finally found something that truly brought him happiness.

But shit, did he always have to be so damn  _chipper_?

"The offer still stands, y'know," Harry said through a mouth full of biscuits, scattering little bits of crumbs in the air. "You're always welcome to come to my class and duel me. It'll be educational! And you can get out some of that pent up frustration that's been making you so—"

He didn't finish his sentence, acknowledging the murderous glint in Hermione's eyes.

"Honestly, Harry, you'd think you'd have learned to not speak with your mouth full," she grumbled, pretending to wipe crumbs off her face with a disgusted grimace. "You know I'm not as good at dueling as you are, and I'm not very fond of being made a fool in front of an audience. I don't think that will make me feel better."

"C'mon, 'Mione! I bet you've only gotten better with your time in Egypt and I need to see if you've gained the knowledge to best me."

"As wonderful as that sounds, you've had just as much time to practise your skills as well. I have a reputation to uphold! I can't be seen doing poorly at something." She adjusted her collar in an exaggerated gesture and held her head high, looking down her nose at Harry.

"Ah, yes, of course," he snorted, his eyes looking to the ceiling. "your wonderful reputation as a woman fond of exploratory  _relations_. We wouldn't want to risk tarnishing that—"

"Harry, I will murder you where you sit—"

"—And even if you don't best me, it'll still get your mind off of whatever's been bothering you." He added softly, his brows drawing together in concern. He reached out to rest his hand upon hers, his dark brown skin a nice contrast against her golden tones. "I know you haven't been keen on discussing things since you've returned, but I'm still here for you, 'Mione."

"I know, Harry," she said with a gentle smile, voice low and reassuring. "But it's just something annoying in passing. I'll work my way through it and be back to normal in no time."

"Alright. If it continues to bother you, come to me. I'll find a way to help, even if it's just me sitting and listening to some theory of yours repeated in different ways for hours."

Hermione snorted, pulling her hand from underneath his and patting his shoulder.

"What a sacrifice to make for mankind, Harry. I'm surprised you haven't been officially labeled a saint."

"They're working on it. Quite a lot of paperwork required for that—very official business, y'know." He shoveled the remainder of his lunch in his face and Hermione fought back a cringe at the mess he was making;  _this_  was what the students were attracted to? "I still insist you indulge me in a duel. It'll be fun, I promise."

"If you aren't planning on dropping the subject, I suppose I'll agree. But don't expect much out of me."

"Perfect!" Harry grinned brightly at her, mischief sparking in his eyes. "The duel shall be held during your free period after lunch."

"That's next period, you prat—"

"Like I said: perfect. The element of surprise." He wiggled his dark brows at her suggestively.

"You're lucky I'm unwilling to cast the cruciatus," She mumbled, stabbing at her potatoes violently with her fork.

"Indeed I am. I imagine you'd've cast it on me a long time ago."

* * *

 

"Alright, class, I've another surprise for you!" Harry said excitedly to his seventh year students. A collective groan resounded throughout the classroom and Hermione had to convert her laughter into a cough, turning her head to prevent Harry from seeing the mirth on her face.

Harry quickly shot her a dirty look before continuing.

"This is actually a  _pleasant_  surprise, as you won't have to do anything but observe. Honestly, my lessons aren't that bad—" He whined, all but pouting at the lack of enthusiasm from his class.

Hermione cleared her throat, attempting to keep Harry from going off on a tangent, and waved her hand for him to continue with the lesson.

"—Alright, fine," Harry grumbled. "As you can probably tell from the desks being cleared and the lack of seating; today Professor Granger and I will give you a close-up experience of a wizard's duel."

A dark hand shot in the air and Harry nodded to his student in acknowledgment.

"Yes, Zabini?"

"No offense, Professor Potter, but we've witnessed wizards duels before. It's not really a new topic." Zabini said flatly, shrugging his narrow shoulders.

"Yes, but you've never been permitted to see a duel  _without_  magical restrictions." He was almost vibrating with energy, pacing about the front of the room. "Professor Granger and I will be allowed to cast any spell we see fit, including hexes and curses."

Hermione noticed most students begin to perk up with interest from the declaration, bored eyes becoming bright with curiosity. She wanted to cringe. She worked with hexes and curses and understood them completely, but she wasn't one to look forward to having them thrown at her by someone incredibly adept at doing so.

Why did she let Harry talk her into this ridiculous plan again?

Oh,  _right._  To help get her mind off of the thing bothering her.

And the 'thing' in particular was standing in a crowd of students, eyes boring into her so resolutely that she was surprised there wasn't a hole burned through her head, or that her hair hadn't caught fire from its intensity. He was trying desperately to get her to return his eye contact, but she stubbornly—and childishly, if she was being honest with herself—looked anywhere but in his direction.

She had to keep herself from smacking her palm to her forehead over how stupid she was. She  _knew_  he was in this class, knew that he would be watching the entire time Harry handed her arse to her on a silver platter.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Professor Granger, do you have anything to add before our duel commences?"

Hermione regained her focus and swallowed hard, trying to prepare herself mentally for the inevitable bruising she would endure from her unfortunate decision. Regardless of how well-versed Harry was at the subject, she wouldn't do anything but her best; it wasn't in her blood to accept defeat so easily.

"No, I imagine you've covered it. Let's get this over with." She cast a quick sticking spell to form her hair in a knot on her head, hopefully keeping the frizzy mess from interfering with the duel.

Harry chuckled at her disgruntled response but did not argue. He went to his side of the classroom as she followed suit, standing on the opposite side.

They both stood straight and tall, wands at their sides, chins raised in confidence—confidence that Hermione didn't entirely feel, but attempted to personify regardless. They bowed deeply to each other before raising their wands in front of them, aimed at the other.

Remembering a duel from their second year, Hermione called out on a whim:

"Scared, Potter?"

"You wish." He winked, undoubtedly recalling the duel between himself and Draco Malfoy.

They both stared awkwardly at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move; an entire minute passed before Harry sent a simple stunning spell towards her legs.

She sidestepped it lazily, seemingly breaking the spell on the two friends with a laugh.

Hermione began rapid-firing curses at Harry as quickly as she could think of them, waving her wand but deciding to remain non-verbal, hoping it would confound him at some point and cause him to lose his focus.

_Stupefy. Locomotor Mortis. Tarantallegra._

She decided to keep with simple spells at first; she wanted to lull him into a sense of comfort that she would be unwilling to send more dangerous spells at him, use their close friendship against him.

Harry slashed his wand through the air, effectively blocking all of her mediocre attempts with simple defensive spells.

"Is that really the best you can do, 'Mione?" He taunted, laughter tainting his words as he began firing curses back at her.

He seemed to choose the opposing route to her methods.

A flurry of different coloured lights began racing towards her and she threw up her shield charm, putting as much strength into as she could.

The first few spells were swallowed by her shield, but the fourth disintegrated it; she had to lunge haphazardly out of the way, throwing herself on the floor to avoid it. Her knees hit the ground painfully and sent shockwaves down to her feet.

The spell had managed to catch the end of her robes, singing them, and her eyes grew wide at the sight.

If he was playing to win so early, then she would, too.

She cast  _bombarda_  at the wall behind him and watched as he ran quickly to avoid the shattering pieces of stone tumbling down towards him; she used his distraction to catch him mid-run with a leg-locking jinx, leading him to fall face-first onto the floor.

"No, I think I can do a bit better, really," Hermione said airily, standing up and brushing dust off her robes.

Harry removed the curse from himself and went to stand, opening his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a startled huff as he hung upside down from his feet, his body dangling in the air.

His robes fell towards his head, revealing a white undershirt tucked into slacks.

She laughed at him, thinking he would be unable to see her, but the curse sent spiralling towards her said otherwise.

It hit her square in the chest, sending her flying back into the opposing wall; she could've sworn she felt her brain shake from the force, scrambling her thoughts and making her nose run.

She brought a hand to her nose to wipe away the embarrassing evidence, but as she pulled back, it was dripping with blood.

Brilliant.

"Oh shit! Hermione, are you alright?" Harry called out, evidently having freed himself from the  _levicorpus_  she had cast on him, scrambling to get to her.

"I'm fine," she groaned, leaning forward on her hands and scraped knees and pushing with all her might to arrange herself into some semblance of a standing position.

Using what little focus she had, she cast a burning hex for good measure, hitting him in the arm and setting his outer robe on fire.

Harry swore and quickly put it out, but a considerable hole remained along with a pink blotch of burned flesh.

They both looked at each other and laughed wearily, realizing how ridiculously childish the whole duel must have appeared to his class. Hermione didn't figure they expected the lesson to consist entirely of curses learned in the lower years of school, but she supposed it was realistic.

"Are you alright?"

She doubled over, willing the room to stop spinning and her breathing to steady.

"I think I'll survive. Who won?" She asked, peeking through her eyelashes at him.

"We'll call it a tie," Harry replied in disbelief, shaking his head and running his hand through his unkempt hair.

"Brilliant."

"Well, that calls the end of class," Harry said, turning to address his students. "Gather any questions you have for tomorrow's lesson, we'll discuss it then. I'm going to run Professor Granger to the infirmary before her next class."

"Harry, that's completely unnecessary," Hermione griped, annoyed by the way the students were staring at her as though she were an animal on display. "I'll just go rest in my classroom until my next lesson. No need for theatrics."

"Hermione, don't be ridiculous—"

"I'll escort her, Professor Potter." An all too familiar voice rang out, making her blood freeze in her veins.

_Please don't be who I think it is. Please don't be who I think it is._

If she repeated it often enough, maybe the gods would hear her plea and pull her from the unfortunate encounter she was about to endure.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Riddle."

She cursed Harry internally for sacrificing her like that when she was entirely unprepared to speak with Tom; it hadn't even been a full day, she needed more time to gather her thoughts—

"It's no problem at all. I'll ensure she returns to her classroom safely," his deep baritone was dripping with concern, a sound far too pleasing to her ears. She had to force herself to not look at his face, not acknowledge the expression that she was certain would be perfectly etched upon it.

"Professor Granger?" Tom approached her now, gently cupping her elbow in his hand. "Are you alright to walk or do you need me to carry you?"

"I'll be just fine walking, thanks," she replied politely, avoiding his gaze.

She didn't have to look into his eyes to know what she would find there—amusement over the threat that only she had picked up on—really, in what world would she allow him to carry her?— and a steady coldness that had been growing since her blatant refusal to acknowledge him since her abrupt dismissal the day before.

"I insist you at least hold onto my arm, Professor," Tom urged kindly, forcing her hand in front of Harry.

She wrapped her arm around his begrudgingly and allowed him to lead her out of the classroom, past the overzealous stares of her students and into the empty corridor.

Hermione was woefully unprepared for the walk back to her classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, friends. I promise I haven’t forgotten this story and I’ve been working on getting updates as quickly as possible (you know how it is around the holidays). I’ve postponed Hogsmeade until next chapter for some additional detail and character interactions, so I hope you don’t mind. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! If you have any questions about anything, you can find me on tumblr at marauderswagger. I’ll answer all questions to the best of my abilities.
> 
> Until the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my loves: gigi-mari for always being available to give me opinions, quitethesardonic for always being on the same wavelength, and seanymphe for being the love of my life.

Hermione counted the stones of the floor as they crossed them, determined to keep her attention on anything but the man whose arm she currently held on to.

The sounds of their steps echoed through her mind, painfully demanding to be acknowledged over the heavy silence that shrouded the pair. Each step like a steady swing of a hammer, pounding and pounding, growing louder with each footfall.

She could feel his stare each time he glanced down towards her, feel him searching for any sign of emotion or reaction to his presence—she wouldn't show him  _anything_ , wouldn't allow him to see her affected by him in the slightest.

She would make it back to her classroom, take a potion for her throbbing headache, and hopefully catch at least a little sleep before her next class started.

She would dismiss him the moment they arrived.

She continued telling herself that as they boarded the staircase, as they arrived on her floor—and as Tom held firm when she began to step off, preventing her from making the transition. He grabbed onto her forearm, holding her in place, and she had stayed; she was too shocked to act otherwise.

She wasn't expecting him to blatantly refuse to take her to her classroom.

She knew if he accosted her there, she could resign to her chambers, effectively barring him from interacting with her until she was ready.

But he probably knew that, too.

"And just where exactly do you think we're going?" She snapped, finally glancing upwards to send him a sharp glare. She dug her nails into his arm in warning, but immediately thought better.

He was her student.

A student that seemed to have drowned any ounce of common sense he had with his own arrogance and assumptions, but her student nonetheless.

"Somewhere to talk, of course."

His voice was pleasant, amiable; a tone you'd expect to hear when having a polite conversation over breakfast, just two friends catching up after years apart.

His jaw, however, told a different story: set quite stubbornly, it expressed the decision wasn't up for discussion—at least not in his mind.

His body was tense, expecting a fight from her, and it appeared he thought her to be a worthy adversary; she felt the muscles in his arm remain taut even after successfully halting her movements, like she was a feral animal that would strike at any moment and he needed to be aptly prepared.

She couldn't deny that cursing him had crossed her mind the moment he stopped her, but she knew she wouldn't be able to put up much of fight. Her head ached and her body was tender, leaving her bereft of the agility or strength to properly maim him the way she wanted to.

Oh, and he was her student.

Something she had to remind herself of over and over, like a mantra constantly running through her mind, telling her she couldn't rightfully curse him into the next century.

"And what makes you think it's appropriate to commandeer your professor?" She questioned, disguising the acid she felt on her tongue with a sickly sweet tone.

If anything, this appeared to alarm him more—the first intelligent thing he acted upon that day—and his eyebrows knit together in worry, but his posture remained the same.

Casual. Comfortable.

It infuriated her all the more.

"I know it's appropriate because I wouldn't be able to speak with you otherwise."

He guided her off the stairs at the second floor and approached a classroom that had been abandoned for as long as she could remember. Why had he brought her here? Her stomach clenched in panic but she willed it to hold off from crippling her.

Tom was just a student. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't be  _capable_  of hurting her.

Right?

After all the lessons she had gone through with him, she knew that her thoughts were merely wishful thinking; he had excelled at any test she could come up with for him, especially in regards to anything in the realm of destruction. She hadn't had to show him how to do anything more than once, and had even taught her a few things (mainly with conjuring fire—how was he so proficient at working with fire? It was as though the flames were always in the corner of his mind, merely waiting anxiously for the moment their master would call them forth once more. It was disturbing how she found that to be more interesting than frightening).

So was he truly capable of hurting her? Absolutely. And that terrified her.

"Will you stop acting like I'm going to murder you and just come in the room with me?" He sighed impatiently, holding the door open for her to enter. She peeked inside but couldn't make out anything, the room too dark for her eyes to adjust in time.

Hesitating too long for Tom's taste, he pulled her inside with a disgruntled noise, shutting the door behind them.

The room suddenly glowed with light and she noticed he hadn't used his wand to do so;

she had to fight the portion of her brain that wanted to nod encouragingly at his progress, the part that was professor impressed by student—she didn't want to further motivate his ideology that being powerful made any decision he acted upon okay.

She took advantage of the light to allow her eyes to search the dusty room, taking in random books splayed out across tables, balled up parchment in different areas, and a few old cauldrons set up.

"What is all this stuff doing here? There hasn't been a course held here in ages."

Tom shrugged, leading her to sit down in a chair while he remained standing.

"I like to have space to work freely."

She nodded in agreement. It made absolute sense to her; the amount of times she had been disturbed in the Gryffindor common room by voices and laughter always annoyed her. The library was never open as late as she would've liked, Madam Pince having chased her out far too many times despite her begging to stay for even a moment longer, vehemently protesting returning to her dormitory and being forced to listen Lavender gush about Divination.

She was upset that she didn't think to do this as well. How easy it would've been for her to claim a classroom of her own and hide herself away from the real world and the mocking commentary regarding her inquisitive nature.

"Now that you've seen that this isn't my own personal room for torture, may I please look at your head?" Tom's voice rang out, poorly concealing his annoyance with her.

"Why do you need to look at my head?" Hermione touched the back of her head self-consciously and pulled back quickly, wincing in pain from the shock her touch sent through her skull.

He looked at her pointedly but said nothing else.

"I dunno if you're more qualified to look over it than Pomfrey, at this rate I might as well go to the infirmary—" She continued to protest, thinking of any excuse to keep him from using her injury to incapacitate her somehow. Even with his insistence to check on her well-being, she still couldn't erase the knowledge of his blood prejudice; she didn't want to be on the receiving end of some wild attempt to harm muggleborns, as outrageous as the idea was (Everyone had seen her leave with Tom—what could he possibly do to her that wouldn't be tracked back to him?)

He rolled his eyes and strode towards her anyway, undoing the sticking charm she had placed on her curls and gently holding up strands of her hair to inspect her scalp for wounds.

They had fallen into a friendly routine together before his disdain for muggleborns arose; so much so that nothing felt out of place as he approached despite her protests, acting upon his thoughts of what was the best action to take as always. She couldn't lie to herself and pretend that she hadn't already begun to miss how straightforward and to the point he was, having thought she would spend a lot more time away from him than simply a day.

She found herself growing annoyed over her sudden proclivity for dramatics, but that faded quickly when she drew her attention back to Tom.

As inappropriate as it was to be with him here, it was all the more inappropriate to so thoroughly enjoy his large hands sorting through her hair.

Hermione really tried to keep her body prepared to run at any sign of trouble, but the moment his fingers began rifling through her hair, her bones dissolved out of her body, leaving her helplessly in his care.

She could've moaned from the feeling of his soft touch and the sensation that ran down her spine. She had always loved to have her hair played with but was often too ashamed of its disheveled state to allow anyone to do so; it was no surprise to her that she had to fight back a purr from sounding through her chest—until Tom managed to find a particularly sore spot.

"Ow, bloody hell—" She flinched, jerking her head forward and away from him before turning to glare up at him.

Tom stared back at her with stormy eyes and a clenched jaw, breathing sharply through his nose.

"It isn't my fault it hurts." She said snappishly. "If you'd just let me leave and at least take a potion—"

"You're right," he cut her off mid-sentence, his voice halfway between a whisper and a snarl. His frigid tone caused a shiver to run up her spine and her body to flinch involuntarily. "It isn't your fault. It's Potter's fault for being so _goddamn careless_ and throwing you into a wall—"

" _Professor_   _Potter_  was simply performing in the duel as he should have! It was  _my_  mistake when I didn't shield myself properly."

"Professor Potter," He replied through gritted teeth, "could have killed you if you would've hit your head just a little bit harder."

"And why does  _any_  of this matter to you? I'm surprised you're willing to touch me! Wouldn't want to risk the chance of catching any disease a mudblood carries—"

"Do  _not_  call yourself that." Tom seethed, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. "This has _nothing_  to do with blood other than yours being wrongfully spilled."

She choked out a laugh, unable to do anything else as she felt hysteria bubbling up inside her. Surely she was in another dimension where the boy that stood in front of her hadn't just revealed his approval of blood supremacy the day before.

"I must be hallucinating if you are genuinely delusional enough to believe that your opinion of muggleborns doesn't directly affect me."

"I have no issues with you being muggleborn, Hermione. I have issues with you almost being slaughtered in front of an entire class."

"You're so melodramatic, you know that?" She said, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation and turning away from him. "I was not almost slaughtered. I am fine. My head hurts—which this entire conversation is _not_  helping—but I am fine." She held her face in her hands, willing the day to be over; or even better, for the entire day to have been a dream, and she'd wake up and continue to ignore the insufferable man standing behind her, demanding things of her that he had no real claim to.

"Sit back up and I'll heal your head. We'll finish this conversation later tonight."

A promise, not an offer.

"Tom, I'm your professor, not the other way around. You've no need to take care of me. I'm perfectly capable of going to the infirmary or taking a potion." Despite her words, she sat up in her chair anyway, allowing his hands to search through her hair once more.

"I'm aware."

"Then why are you doing all of this? Why are you so adamantly scolding me for something that doesn't concern you?"

She was expecting him to describe how important their lessons were to him, how she believed in him when Dumbledore was so blatantly against him—something that had been brought up several times, and she was only just beginning to see— or even that he was simply fond of spending time with her.

What she wasn't expecting, of course, was the real response he gave:

"I don't know."

His tone was puzzling and rang true with honesty, having barely been muttered above a whisper that she wasn't entirely sure was even meant for her ears.

A warm feeling spread from the wound to the remainder of her head, removing the pain as it went.

"Well, for whatever reason," she said, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, "I appreciate you healing me. I could've done without the 'forcing me into an abandoned classroom against my will' thing, but still."

"Oh, yeah?" Tom chuckled deep in his chest, a husky sound that had warmth pooling in her abdomen. "Don't pretend that you didn't come here of your own free will, Hermione. You and I both know that if you truly didn't want to be here, you wouldn't be."

She swallowed hard, refusing to turn and look into his face. She already knew what she would see and she didn't know if she could handle the arrogant tilt of his mouth so soon after a head injury. She needed to separate herself from him, take time to sort out her thoughts after the whirlwind of emotions she experienced in such a short amount of time.

Her head was throbbing for a wholly new reason.

"You're right. Any other time—perhaps when I haven't smashed my head against a wall—I wouldn't have been so easy to corner. I've noted my mistakes and won't make them again." She stood from her chair, distantly recognizing the lack of side effects from his healing spell and wishing she were on better terms with him to discuss it, and began to head for the door.

"Hermione, wait—" Tom called from behind her, catching her by the crook of her elbow and spinning her around to face him. She almost collided with his chest from the force of his pull and she absentmindedly wondered if she would bruise.

"Tom, you're trying my patience," she growled, looking up to glare into his eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day and jerking her arm out of his hand. His height always made her feel like a child attempting to scold an adult, hands on her hips and wagging a finger in his face. Although that used to be her go-to stance, she very luckily grew out of that stage of her life and had adapted herself to give the iciest of stares—Bill had once told her it felt like she was attempting to murder him where he stood the one time she had turned the look on him, and she had felt oddly smug from the sense of power it made her feel.

"Will you stop being so bloody  _hostile?_ " Tom ground out, clenching and unclenching his fists as though he were imagining his fingers closing around her throat. "We are one in the same, Hermione—the faster you realize this, the better. As endearing as your tenacious attitude might be to others, it's time for you to  _listen to me_  instead of plugging your ears at any sign of progress."

"Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered, completely baffled from his deranged speech. He had to be fucking  _joking_  if he thought them to be similar outside of their academic achievements. "We're both smart—big fucking deal! That doesn't mean that we're destined to work together or be anything more than what we are now, which, unless I've been blissfully drugged this school year,  _isn't much._  I am teaching you Arithmancy and wandless spells. That's  _it."_

"You're mistaken." His voice dropped dangerously low, anger flashing in his eyes. She subconsciously took a step away from him. "After all of our lessons, all of the discussions we've had about your life and school, you  _know_  I understand you better than anyone else. I know your fears, your worries, your dreams—and not just because we've talked in great length since you've started here, Hermione—but because they are  _mine."_

She scrambled backwards as he began stalking forward, his long legs closing any distance she put between them in a matter of seconds. She felt the coldness of stone on her back and knew she had been cornered—both literally and figuratively—and she fought to keep herself from showing any outward signs of panic despite her heart desperately trying to escape her body, jumping into her throat and beating its way out.

Tom looked down into her face, mouth curling into a cruel caricature of a smile.

"We really are just alike, Hermione," He murmured, one hand placed just above her head to support his weight and the other brushing stray curls from her face to tuck them behind her ear. "I've heard enough about you being a muggleborn; despite our less-than-optimal blood statuses, we're very clearly two of the brightest to have ever walked these halls, let alone out in the world." He was so close she could feel his breath fan over her face, a combination of cinnamon and pumpkin juice clouding her senses.

"So because we're both brilliant, we're somehow tied to each other now? I wasn't aware that's how the world worked; you'd think they'd advertise that a bit more clearly."

Her sarcasm still forged on, damning her even further when Tom exhaled deeply through his nose, surely preparing to let her have it—

"I'm not the enemy," he said, shaking his head in disappointment, dark curls shifting with the movement. "I'm hoping you'll see that soon. I've no intention of harming you." He pushed off the wall, giving her the distance she had so desperately craved only seconds before; her body protested the loss of heat that accompanied his closeness, but she maintained to keep that to herself.

"The whole anti-muggleborn agenda is just the means to an end. It seems our heritage has only positively impacted our intelligence versus that of Purebloods." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged passively, resigning back into himself as though transforming from his true identity to a shell of who he actually was—forcing his opinions, personality, and hunger into a suitcase far too small for its contents. "If you don't believe that I wouldn't harm a muggleborn, visit the trophy room. I have a plaque there for services to the school—I'm the one who caught the psychopath that killed one a couple years back. Not really the actions of a mudblood killer, yeah?"

"What are you talking about? A muggleborn  _died?"_

Hermione's eyes widened with horror. Hogwarts was the safest place she could possibly think of, especially having Dumbledore as the head of the school; she never imagined anyone ever being capable of sneaking something past him.

"Yes, it was quite tragic I wasn't able to stop the abomination sooner; Myrtle might still be alive had I figured it out only moments before." His voice filled with regret, he cast his eyes down to avoid her gaze. "The teachers won't give out much information on what actually happened with the Chamber of Secrets, but the only person capable of opening it is now in Azkaban. Professor Potter might have more information than a simple student such as myself."

His poor attempt at painting himself to be the humble student caused suspicion to ring through her head; there was something else about this chamber that Tom wasn't telling her, and she would have to figure it out for herself.

"Yes, well—" She cleared her throat, voice temporarily sounding hoarse, "I'll ask him about it." She kept her sentence short and to the point, not wanting to draw attention to her suspicions. It wouldn't do well to outright accuse him of anything without having the information to back it up,  _especially_  when it came to Hogwarts' golden boy.

"Will you consider reinstating our private lessons? I'm not the monster I made myself appear to be the other day," he said earnestly. "There will be no further misunderstandings. I promise."

"I'll think about it," She smiled hesitantly. "We really must be going, class will be starting and I don't need Harry thinking I've gone off and died for refusing treatment."

She turned to leave for the second time, praying he wouldn't stop her and attempt to persuade her further.

He didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so more drama! Yay! I’m excited for the next few chapters, so hopefully that’ll fuel me to get them done a bit more quickly. I changed my URL on tumblr from marauderswagger to darklordriddle, so if you look for me, you’ll find me there. Until next chapter, friends!


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